


In Which

by CinnaAtHeart



Series: From the Head Down [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon, Bromance, Character Study, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Master of Death Harry, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Through the Veil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things to be said about living as outsider/insiders in the Avengers Tower. For Harry, Hermione and Draco, these are but some of those things.</p><p>WARNING: Part One and Two of this story must be read first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is an Intermission

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo may have lied in my last update. Turns out full time work really does a number on my creative juices. That and I don't really like this chapter, so I wanted to finish Ch32 as an apology- that will be up tomorrow, for sure. But yeah, it's been what? Like, a month? Sorry about that. Didn't mean to. :S
> 
> This stars part three of this ridiculous story. It's largely character-driven; as you'll notice in the next update.
> 
> I felt like there was more to say here... but I honestly can't think of anything anymore. So whatevs. Read on.

 

 

The return to the tower didn't go as smoothly as they would have liked. Fury had somehow gotten wind of Harry's 'retrieval' (if finding him in the company of an old friend, unharmed and expectant could really count as a retrieval), and was waiting with a nameless agent in the open-plan living area of Tony's monument to himself. Tony- always one to rebel in the face of authority- is unhappy at the invasion of privacy.

"May I remind you, Director," He snarks, catching sight of the man, "That this is  _private_ property."

Uncaring, Fury crosses his legs, lounging on the oversized settee as though he owns the place, "May I remind you Stark, that the Avengers Initiative is a  _subsidiary_ of SHIELD. Beyond that, whilst Potter, Granger and Malfoy are under your supervision, their custody lies inevitably in SHIELD's jurisdiction."

Steve shares an uncomfortable look with Harry. Something about the way the Director speaks makes him feel like the magic users are nothing more than property to the organisation. Steve respects Fury; which doesn't necessarily mean he likes the man, and he  _certainly_  doesn't trust him- not after he'd found those weapons that bore a frightening resemblance to Hydra's. He respects the older man for his unwavering leadership of SHIELD, and trusts him to make the hard decisions- but not necessarily the  _right_  ones. But the way Fury refers to the newcomers sets his teeth on edge- it speaks of ulterior motives and machinations towards ends he can't yet see.

Oblivious, Fury carries on, "SHIELD should have been notified of Potter's appearance immediately for unobtrusive retrieval." He eyes Harry speculatively, a sharp expression on his face, "For all you know, that might not be Potter at all."

Hermione steps forwards, "I can assure you Director Fury, this is indeed Harry."

Thor nods sagely to Steve's right, "I sense none of Loki's trickery on our friend."

Fury nods once in acknowledgement, "Be that as it may, there are procedures that need be followed; procedures that  _don't_  include running off into an unknown situation with no back-up." He motions towards Harry with a hand, waving in the general direction of his head, "And Potter looks like he needs medical. Looks like Loki wasn't the most hospitable of hosts."

Confused, Steve glances back at Harry; he hadn't noticed any-

He sucks in a surprised breath. Harry's face is a mess of bruises and small cuts, and there are the beginnings of deep, purple marks on his forearms. He almost looks like Steve often did before Bucky could haul his stupid ass out of a fight he knew he was going to lose (part of him aches at the memory of his lost brother).

Harry grimaces at the attention, and subsequently winces as the movement pulls on a nasty cut on his lip, "Glamours have a finite lifespan," he offers in explanation, sheepish, "I didn't want to scare people on the street."

Tony huffs, "What about Bruce? He's a doctor- he can take care of Potter."

Fury stares at Tony for a long moment, face impassive. Steve watches as Hermione visibly restrains herself from pointing out that Bruce was  _technically_  not that kind of doctor, and he gets the sense that she and Tony are likely interested in keeping any further medical 'examinations' of her people as in house as possible. He wonders if anyone will mention the fact that there was another wizard out there, with a  _child._

Finally, the other man nods, "Very well." The tension in the room eases, "But I still need Potter- and the rest of you debriefed. I want to know what Loki wanted, what he was doing and what his plans might be."

Steve feels the stirrings of uneasiness in his gut; he had no idea if Harry and Hermione wanted anyone to know of Sirius' existence- in hindsight it should have been a topic of discussion before they'd gone back to the Tower. He's sure they'll want to keep the family a secret, and he can't exactly blame them. Soldier or no, in their situation he'd likely do the same. But it did bring into question just how far his team's loyalty would- or could- extend to them. Natasha and Clint in particular were as closely tied to SHIELD as one could get- if directly questioned, he wouldn't doubt for a second that they would talk. Not that he holds it against them; he knows the precarious position the pair share- it's one Fury's been frequently suggesting he join.

Tony moves over to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, "Now, if you don't mind Director, it's late and well past little Harry's bedtime." Beside him, Harry scowls at Tony's snide remark. On his abnormally youthful face it just makes him look surly.

Fury stands up, his glare heavy, but Steve gets the feeling that he's aware that it may well be in best interests to leave it be, for the moment, "I'll be back tomorrow for that debrief. Early."

"We look forward to it, Director." Tony drawls and leans with feigned nonchalance over the granite bench.

Fury waves his wordless acknowledgement on the way to the lift and he fights a smile. For all the man's evident dislike of Tony, he was remarkably similar to him.

Steve wonders if the fact had ever occurred to the Director.

 


	2. Amiable Alliances are Made (or According to Everyone Else, Malfoy Stops Being a Total Arse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! I did promise you a new chapter- and here it is!
> 
> BY THE BY: I have a tumblr now! The link for it can be found on my homepage- otherwise it's the same username ( .com) as it ever is, if you want to check it out. I'm slowly working around it, but I plan to start putting up teasers, snippets and drabbles from Great Expectations up there, as well as my art projects. So check it out, if you're interested :)
> 
> [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> This chapter goes through several weeks after the last. You'll also notice it has a slightly different formatting from what I normally use- I felt like shaking things up a bit, and it suited the tone of this chapter. Also I think it's valid to note here, that Draco is (in parts, at least) what we writers would call an unreliable narrator. What he tells us, or shows us isn't necessarily 'true', or 'real'. Think Humbert Humbert from Lolita. He may exaggerate things, or underplay things to suit his purpose. Which is not to say that you should disbelieve everything he says- just... be critical. :)
> 
> Anyway, that's all I have to say- read on and enjoy!

 

"Oh," A voice states and the sound of scuffing feet halts, "I didn't realise you knew were the library was." Draco looks up from his novel indignantly; Potter stands awkwardly in the doorway. He fights the urge to roll his eyes and angrily mourns the loss of his peaceful hiding spot for a moment (only Banner and Rogers used the room, and both chose to largely steer clear of him. He didn't mind. Really).

He glares instead, "I didn't realise you knew how to read, Potter."

The other 'man' scowls, "You don't have to be a twat, Malfoy. Jesus." He moves forwards, indignance superseded by curiosity, "What are you reading?"

He closes the novel self-consciously, not entirely sure why he needs to hid it. The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die sighs heavily as he stands abruptly and stiffly walks past him- holding the front casually against his thigh, "We're all in this for the long-run, you know."

"I don't have the energy to deal with you today. Your voice grates on my nerves."

He splutters behind him, "We're the only magic-users left! We should be sticking together!"

"Fuck off."

The lift doors close behind him with a silent  _fwish._

* * *

"Morning Malfoy."

"Granger."

She holds out a mug, "Coffee?"

"No." He says, despite his only purpose for coming up here being for the coffee. For some reason, all the coffee that was supplied to his room was bloody awful, and nothing he did could change it. He curses inwardly.

Granger refills her mug and continues buttering her toast.

"Planning on doing anything today?" She asks lightly, and takes a bite from her toast.

"Given my indefinite incarceration, no."

The witch purses her lips at the terse statement, "We're in the same boat, you know."

He sneers, "Oh really? Doesn't seem like when the two of you are off gallivanting Merlin knows where all the time with you  _best pals_."

Her lips thing further, "We can't leave without a chaperone- none of us can. You were briefed on the terms of our probational status, just as we were."

He raises a contemptuous eyebrow, "Yes, a  _chaperone_. Do I look like a fucking twelve year old to you?"

She smiles at him- all teeth, "Well maybe you should have thought about that  _before_  you threw us through the Veil."

He snarls, "It was the only way! You're alive, aren't you? And free from those bloody psychos! In the circumstances I'd call that a pretty good result!"

" _A good result?!_  Malfoy, we lost everything because of you!"

He  _just barely_  restrains himself from hitting the benchtop, "You think you're the only one who lost everyone, Granger? You think the only stateless bastard stuck in this fucking tower like bloody Rapunzel?"

She draws back, affronted " _Excuse me?_ "

"That's right Granger," He sneers, ready to dig into her with the anger that always seems to boiling, just below the skin, "Happy to sit up on that high horse and paint me as the villain, like you're the only one who lost." He grips the edge of the counter, stopping his hand from going for a wand that isn't there, "Well guess what sugar-pie- you're not. I had friends and family too, you bitch. My mother-"

His breath hitches and he stops abruptly. There were many things he would never speak of to the others, and his mother was on the very top of that list.

Granger's eyes soften and he already regrets the slip of the tongue, "Malfoy, I-"

"Forget it Granger." He sneers, backing off, "Just stay the fuck away from me."

"Malfoy!" The witch calls out as he withdraws (flees). He ignores her- fuck it, he'll just deal with the shitty coffee in his flat.

* * *

Right after he trashes half of it in anger.

(thinking of his mother has that effect on him)

* * *

Life at the tower is, above all, boring.

Up to this point, the last half a decade or so of his life had been spent working towards a single goal. With that now up in the air (and launched irretrievably into fucking space), he was left with the inevitable realisation that he had no idea how to live; how to be a normal person. He'd certainly forgotten how to get along with others. Life now was a constant struggle between playing nice with others in the hopes of getting off SHIELD's Possibly Naughty list before he turns forty, and remembering that he needed to play nice with the others. Mostly he failed at both- particularly with Potter and Granger.

Because one of the things he'd found, now that he was free of the psychopaths he'd been infiltrating in Britain, was that he was  _angry._ All of the time.

It was exhausting, trying to decide whose fault it was- his; the Golden Duo's; the Neo Death Eaters. The blame shifted according to his mood, but the anger was a constant; boiling in his veins and twisting his words in ways he doesn't want. Not really. He can barely stop himself from snapping and snarling at the lot of them, regardless of how good a mood he'd been in moments before they speak.

In a way, it scares him. He hadn't always been like this. Sure, he'd been a twat in school, and the War hadn't exactly given him or his family a shining reputation, but he'd always been able to have a laugh and find enjoyment in  _something_. But here… nothing. Nothing but anger and petty bitterness. He can't even remember the last time he smiled- or laughed- let alone have a polite and civil conversation- not without constantly checking himself. It's like he's forgotten how.

It's not a comforting thought.

He has no supports here. No one he can trust. The Golden Duo disliked him almost as much as he did them, and he wasn't exactly motivated to make nice with them.

Barton and Romanoff were alright- Barton was a bit too crass for his tastes, but Romanoff was all dry and sardonic wit that reminded him of Blaise. But he knew neither of them well enough to say he trusted them. And the rest of their team… well, Stark appeared to be paired off with Granger, the Captain practically oozed righteousness from his pores and he'd heard that mild-mannered Banner turned into something like a werewolf on command.

And Thor…. Well, he was weird. Most of his interactions with the man involved unsettling, sad-eyed staring matches, as though the alien could see straight into his soul. Draco tried to stay as far from that nutbag as possible.

At least  _Jarvis_  was alright- for a more loquacious and wilful version of a house-elf.

Without any friends, or allies, he had no idea what to do with himself. He spent most of his time reading, or watching a seemingly infinite supply of films through something called 'netflix'. Ideally, he would have like to get out, see the city, but nothing short of an  _Imperius_  could convince him to go out with a fucking  _escort._ Consequently, he found himself mostly bored and restless, wishing desperately to find something to break up the endless stream of days, but unable to hold a decent conversation with anyone but the Widow and Hawkeye.

Romanoff had noticed his apparent aimlessness. Quite quickly, she'd offered to spar with him. He'd refused on principle; wizards as a general rule were  _not_  physical creatures, and resorting to physical violence was considered poor show- especially amongst purebloods (not that many Death Eaters had appeared to remember that, he'd noticed). The idea of pointlessly beating on another person (especially when he'd had minimal training in the area) was about as appealing as traveling with an escort outside was.

Apparently, the memo hadn't been given to the Widow, because she'd taken to surprise tackling him instead.

How she managed to move so quietly without the use of magic was beyond him, but that was the least of his problems. If Draco had to tap out  _one more time_ , once again suffocating between the tight press of that woman's thighs, or experience another 'demonstration' of the double shoulder lock, he was going to turn her into an  _actual_ black widow, first chance he got. Because being pressed between the thighs of a beautiful woman sounded far better in theory that it did in practice. At least Potter or Granger were never around to witness the indignities.

And if he actually managed to toss her off him after the third surprise attack? Well… he could take some solace in that.

* * *

"Tea, Malfoy?"

He feels his upper lip curl back- by this point he's come to recognise it as a reflex reaction to contact with Granger or Potter. The woman stands beside the kettle, a jar of loose-leaf tea in hand; she looks warily sympathetic, like she's expecting him to cry at any minute.

"No."

Her lips thin- press together in an unhappy line. She mercifully stays quiet and he takes it as his cue to leave. He nabs a banana as he does so.

"Bruce is making dinner tonight." She calls after his retreating back.

He ignores the implied invitation and disappears into the lift.

He makes sure not to turn up to dinner that night.

* * *

"You're only making it harder on yourself." Romanoff purrs behind him. He swears, and slops hot tea over his shirt and book; it incites more cursing. She moves around his chair to sit adjacent to him, crossing her legs elegantly even as she lounges in the high-backed armchair.

"What do you want?" He snarls, trying viciously to remember that muggle or not, the woman could still strangle him with her thighs.

She smiles, as though reading his mind, "That's for me to know, призрак человек."

Draco refrains from mentioning that he finds her use of Russian disturbingly attractive. He's pretty sure there's something going on between her and Barton, anyway.

"All this biting." She continues, plucking his tea out of his hands and taking a sip with a straight face. Draco knows for a fact it's scalding hot, "It does you nothing but harm. You're like a dog, gnawing at its own leg."

He snorts, "And what, you want me to stop?"

"It would help. Hermione- and ultimately SHIELD- has control of your custody. She won't let you go if she thinks you're a threat."

"And you expect me to play  _nice_  with them?" He makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.

She shrugs; rolls her eyes, "You played nice with the Death Eaters. Why not them?"

"It was different with them; low-lives like that… I  _knew_  I was better." He grimaces, debating whether or not to open up to the woman. In the end, he decides to go along; Romanoff had ways of finding out these things, he knew, "But those two; they're so  _pure._ Standing in front of them makes everything I do feel lacking."

_It's like all my insecurities and fears are thrown in my face._

"Then you do not see them so well." She hands him back his tea.

"I've known them far longer than you have, Romanoff."

That funny smile of hers returns, "And yet you cannot see them clearly. I don't know the history that lies between the three of you, but I see enough to know your animosity blinds you; all of you." She recrosses her legs and Draco admires the way her body falls immobile, as though on pause; waiting for action, "If you chose to let go of your childish hatreds, you would realise the three of you have more in common than just your universal displacement."

The smirk grows, "And perhaps it would pay for you to recall that all three of you are technically at SHIELD's mercy. I would think that fact would merit the procurement of allies, no?"

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The woman smiles- a smug twitch of the lips that is unfailingly attractive.

"I'm not asking you to become friends with them. But it wouldn't hurt to at least play nice, don't you think?"

He sighs and rubs his face tiredly. There was wisdom in her advice, to be sure.

"I'll think about it."

She smiles properly this time, and unfolds from the chair in one fluid movement. Draco's not sure he's ever seen anyone move the way she does. Not for the first time he wonders if she has just a drop of magic in her veins, "That's all I'm asking for."

He rolls his eyes, knowing that it's not really all she's asking for at all. She gives him a wordless wave of her hand as she saunters out of his apartment.

* * *

He does think about it, after she's gone.

Mostly he wonders how the bloody hell she even got into his apartment without using the front door.

* * *

"You had a choice, you know."

He looks up from his tablet he was slowly typing away at (none of the letters were where they were supposed to be. It was driving him mad) and arches a brow- mindful of his conversation with Romanoff, "I did, did I?"

Granger nods, "You had a choice. You had every chance to bring them down from the within, before we were kidnapped." She takes the liberty to sit in the armchair opposite and he glares at her in irritation.

"And you and Potter had every chance to bring them down from the outside. You  _let_  them grow, when  _you_  had every chance of nipping them in the bud long before they had a chance to grow influential."

She swallows. He fights the urge to roll his eyes- he'd thought she was smarter than this.

"Harry was-"

"What, too busy hiding away his freakshow?"

The witch draws herself up defensively, "Harry's not a-"

"A freak? The guy can't bloody  _age_. We're not talking about some Nicholas Flamel shit here- he's completely frozen. It's easy enough to check with the right diagnostic spells. That isn't normal- even for us."

She frowns at him, "Yes… it made him a target. It made fighting back difficult."

"Made him a target? Granger, he was  _the_  target. He was the reason they restarted. Bloody Rosier and his ilk would have been quite happy remaining bigoted assholes with no agenda were it not for the realisation that Potter was somehow now immortal. Potter restarted their faith."

She looks away. He gives a startled laugh, "You knew?" She nods reluctantly. Draco shakes his head, "Of course you did. And here I was thinking the pair of you were as naïve as they get. Does  _Potter_ know?"

Granger shakes her head, "If he does, it's not because of me. I suspected from the beginning- as time went on I only grew more convinced."

"And you didn't tell him, why?"

She frowns at him, and he can see the need to confess warring with her typical close-lipped policy. He raises a brow and she gives in, "I just- after the war- years after, things were supposed to be  _different_ , you know? Things were meant to be better and brighter and  _fairer_. Instead we inherit a world happy to continue plodding down the same path it always has, and we were… well. We were fed up. What was the point of all the fighting? All the death if nothing changed in the aftermath?"

He keeps his mouth shut, though he sorely wants to make fun at her hopelessly idealistic view of the world. But this is the longest speech he's ever heard from her, and he hadn't even needed to  _prompt_  it. She'd come looking for  _him_. And it wasn't as if he was  _surprised_ civility did wonders to the woman's temper… he just hadn't expected it to ever actually  _happen_  (or for him to allow it to happen, honestly).

"And then of course," she carries on, frowning into the distance, "It turns out that nothing really changed. The Ministry is as bigoted as ever, and the  _Prophet_ ," here she spits out the word as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth (perhaps it had), "was still unashamedly classist and unprofessional, and Hogwarts remained woefully as unequipped for introducing muggleborn and half-blood children into the community's fold as it had ever been.

"It was so disheartening. Harry could barely stand it as it was- nothing any of us did ever changed anything. So when the Neo-Death Eaters emerged… well I just didn't have the heart to tell him, truthfully. We were both so  _tired_ , Malfoy."

"So what? You just left it all be?"

"Well… yes."

"How very un-Gryffindor-like of you."

She shrugs, "And what  _could_  we do? Harry had lost almost all of his political power by that point. He was- well God knows what they thought. The Prophet tried to sell him as a vampire for a good long while- especially in the later years. Then management in the DMLE changed hands and he lost his job… the people feared him. There were plenty that thought he was the one leading the 'rebellion' in the first place."

Draco snorts in derision, "It still astounds me that people honestly believed that."

"People believe what the Prophet wants them to believe."

He smiles, "Granger, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were being unfairly cynical about the wizarding world."

The witch gives him a flat look, but her lips twitch in a way that he knows must be hiding a smile. It's fascinating, really- he'd never even contemplated the thought of enjoying a conversation with the muggleborn woman, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy. The wizarding world is a paragon of righteousness and equality."

"Indeed." He remarks dryly, "But you were saying?"

She does smile then- though it's a touch on the sad side. He feels disconcertingly close to doing the same, "Well, with little to no political allies there wasn't much we could do- most of the original Order were dead, and those left of the DA had families of their own- we weren't about to ask them to put their necks on the line for what we thought were just a small sect of Death Eaters. We'd figured the Ministry would do its job and stamp them out."

He rolls his eyes, "Rule one, Granger- never trust the Ministry. It's as rotten as they come."

"Yes, well more fool me."

They fall silent for a time. Draco half wishes he had a glass of wine to mull over- mostly for the atmosphere it invoked than anything.

"Why did you do it?" Hermione blurts out, after a time. He looks up, "Why did you spy on them? Why did you save us?"

He scowls, "I told you Granger, I-"

"No, you didn't. See, you're like Tony- you hide behind a façade- only for you it's a mask of spitefulness."

He swallows; feigns amusement, "Looking for my hidden depths, Granger? You might be searching for a while."

She rolls her eyes, but leans forwards- rests her elbows on her knees, "Why did you join them at all? Why stay with them in the first place? You could have clued in the DMLE early on- cut it all off at the source."

He frowns, debating the benefits of throwing her a bone. She'd confided in him- in a way- and it made sense to him to do the same. But it feels wrong- speaking so honestly- so candidly- to the woman. They'd been angry at each other for so long… everything about this morning felt weird and skewed- but to show her a part of his life before the Veil seemed only fair. And it was like Natasha had said; they were stuck together in this world. And they were the only people he could ever manage to relate to ever again.

"At first?" He says eventually, when her wide, expectant eyes become too much, "Revenge. I joined them because I wanted them destroyed- but it had to be done right… after the War- my father's mistakes- the Dark Lord's mistakes- everything was so clear. How misguided it all was. And then-" he stops. Finds himself unable to speak of his mother again, of what those bastards had done to her after the war. Even so, Granger nods in understanding- the attack on Narcissa Malfoy had hardly been common knowledge, but it was never exactly a secret, either. No surprise the witch knew about it.

"Well." He clears his throat- pushes down the anger and the residual grief, "To know they were still out there- the Aurors never even bothered looking for them, you know- and to be aware of that, made my blood boil. At first I only joined them to insinuate myself into their circle of trust. The Malfoy name didn't hold enough power after the War, but there was enough sway for them to think me useful."

He stops- calms his growing anger at the thought of everything he'd put up with, in the name of vengeance, "Every day I was with them- every moment- every second- I wanted to tear those bastards apart. Knowing what those pureblood  _fanatics_  had done… It was a trial  _every day_  to stop myself from turning on them and killing the lot of them."

"Why didn't you? After your-"

" _Don't speak of her._ " He snaps at the woman in anger. She flinches- taken aback- and he almost fears that he's gone too far. But he couldn't abide the idea of the muggleborn talking of her- of anyone talking about her. Especially not now- not now that she was alone- he only prayed the house elves were smart enough to find her help now he was gone.

Granger presses her lips together, but she doesn't flip out. He grits his teeth, "Sorry-" he pushes out the apology- it feels like glass in his throat, "I just-"

"It's fine." Granger says sharply. She looks surprised. Draco can't say he blames her, either, "I get it, really."

He watches her warily. He faintly remembers hearing some mention of her parents going missing during the war- Bellatrix had been keen on getting the witch back after the escape from the Malfoy estate, but had ranted about never being able to find them. Part of him wonders now- from the sad look in her eyes- if it had been more than just an excellent hiding job that had saved them.

"Yeah," he says slowly- cautiously, "I'm sure you do." He opens his mouth to say more, but finds the words are lost to him. He stays quiet.

Granger looks at her watch- a gift from Stark, he assumes- and sighs, "I best be going. Natasha wants to go shopping- again." She stands- smoothing down her clothes as she does so. She smiles at him; it doesn't quite reach the eyes, "I'll see you later, Malfoy."

The words feel like a promise. He wonders, absently, just what it is he's gotten himself into as he watches the witch leave.

* * *

"You never finished explaining to me why you stayed with them."

Draco pauses mid-sip into his cup of tea. It takes him a good long moment to recall what she's talking about- that conversation had been over a week and a half ago, "Didn't I? Ain't that a shame."

Granger rolls her eyes. She sits without bothering to wait for an invite. It's a common trait of the people in this tower, Draco's noticed, "I want to hear your side of it all."

He frowns at her, "Wouldn't we be happier disliking each other the rest of our lives? Everyone needs an enemy."

The witch gives off a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh, "It gets so tiring, don't you find?" He shrugs, "I'd rather we be friends- and if not that, then at least amiable allies."

He gives it some serious thought- really, he does. He's shocked to find that the idea is not immediately aberrant to him, as it used to be. He rolls his shoulders, "I wouldn't be opposed to an amiable alliance, I suppose."

Granger gives him a knowing smile he immediately finds he hates, "And in alliances, it's important to share information."

It's Draco's turn to roll his eyes, "I don't know what alliances you've been in before Granger, but in my experience they're an even greater reason to keep secrets."

"Humour me."

He takes a long drink of his tea- it burns all the way down. He places the cup carefully on the table- he's sure at some point he'll knock it over elsewise, "I stayed with them at first because I wanted them dead." Granger sucks in a breath to speak and he holds up a hand to pre-emptively shut her up, "It was purebloods who hurt my  _family_ \- the Ministry may have known nothing, but I knew  _exactly_  who was responsible. And they had to pay- in the very worst ways possible.

"And the first few did, you know. It felt like vengeance, in the beginning… but after a while it started to feel hollow." He sighs heavily and leans back in the low-backed chair. He doesn't want to have to admit his doubts to the woman, but the Slytherin part of him knows that if he ever wants out of Stark's tower, he had to play nice with Granger, "The longer I stayed in their ranks- the more I saw of the corruption that ran through everything- the more I became convinced that there was more of a problem than just another group of fanatics. The fault lay in the system."

He stops then. He's had these thoughts for a long time, but has never vocalised them. It takes him several long moments to compose his thoughts into words with meaning, "The Ministry, the Wizengamot- the entire notion of purebloods and muggleborns and halfbloods. It was all so flawed- the whole thing needed to be torn down. I'd bring Britain to its knees and rebuild it all from scratch. And Merlin- with the Death Eaters as a front, the Ministry would bloody  _let_   _me_." He's grinning by the end of it- it was far more complicated than all that, but he wasn't about to let  _Granger_ , of all people, know the worst of it.

The witch stares at him. She looks uneasy (he's not sure whether to count it as a victory, or a failure), "That's what Voldemort wanted, in the beginning."

He crosses his legs coolly, "Something along those lines I've heard, yes. But dark magic has a way of polluting one's mind- rewiring your brain. By the end of it all, all he was looking for was power."

"It never would have worked. People would have stopped you."

He barks a laugh of disbelief, "You think? After all we saw in the war, do you really think the public would have opposed anything the Prophet or the Ministry fed to them? Wizarding Britain  _wanted_ to be lied to."

The Mudblood Queen looks away angrily and he rolls his eyes again, "Oh come on- would it really have been so different from the changes you'd wanted to reap straight out of the war? I  _wanted_  a better world, Granger. And it was the system I hated- not the people- not really. And to me, owning the new system would have been the best revenge of all."

"I don't believe you."

He pushes down the flash of anger. Feigns an enigmatic smile instead. "Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm stuck on the other side of the looking glass now, isn't it?" He picks up his cup of tea and stands. The muggleborn watches him with wary eyes, "You wanted an explanation- that's what you got." He sighs and moves away towards the door.

"Malfoy."

He stops. Granger is  _smiling_  at him. Granted, it's small, but it's the first genuine smile he's received from the woman. He's stunned into silence at the novel sight- he's not quite sure he deserves it.

The smile turns wry, "This was nice. You should come down to my lab sometime. There's something I's like to show you."

He swallows, but finds himself unable to say anything in response to her. He nods dumbly, and turns to leave the room.

Romanoff may have been right.

(It didn't hurt to play nice with the others.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> призрак человек Ghost man
> 
> There is something quite glorious about the image of Natasha crash tackling Draco as he's walking down a corridor. Don't say you don't wish to see that too.
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this chapter. I really love some parts, but there are other parts that I'm not so keen on. Malfoy is one of my favourite characters to write, and I wish he'd turn up more often than he does. :I That said, I feel like there could have been more snark.
> 
> Also, please remember that Draco is not going to suddenly tell the whole truth to someone he's always held some level of animosity for. Some of what he's said is the truth, and some of it is a lie, and I am not going to tell you either way. HA!
> 
> Anyways, I don't know when the next chapter will be up- hopefully within the next three weeks- I have comic reviews that I have to do, and some other things. Look forward to it though- I love what's been written so far.
> 
> So, until then, I'll see ya'll later! PLEASE REVIEW!
> 
> Cinna


	3. The Lunar Cycle is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw hell yeah, new chapter!
> 
> Man, parts of this have been written for months- and I'm talking, like since June/July. Others were finished about ten minutes ago. I really like this chapter, but God were some parts really hard to get out!
> 
> humm, I don't really have anything else to say here- check out the end of the chapter for a few more notes.
> 
> Thank-you everyone who left a review for the last chapter/s!
> 
> Read on, and Happy Australia Day!

 

He runs.

He runs, and vines and trees bow out of his way; springing back into place behind him.

He runs, and in the distance he hears the savage howls of wolves and darker things. Their piercing cries spur him on. He should fight them. He knows this. But they dodge and spark and shatter and reform every time he tries; shivering in and out of existence a million times a second.

A root trips him; twists around his ankles like the spindly fingers of a grindylow. He feels the snap and crunch of bones breaking, but there's no pain. Only pulsating fear.

The howls grow closer; transform into wails. He sobs.

"Harry Potter." A woman says from above. The roots disappear, and he rolls onto his back. A young woman hangs upside down from the heavy, drooping branches of a weeping willow. Her generous yellow skirt remains around her feet, untouched by gravity though her blonde hair falls beneath her head like a veil.

The world twists, and suddenly he is falling- arms pin wheeling in the disorientation. He lands with a solid  _whump_  on the branch beside the woman. Above his head, the shadow wolves gather about the foot of the willow; snapping and snarling, but they cannot reach them. Comforted for the moment, he stands; the branch makes a far more stable perch than he'd thought it would have. He gathers his thoughts beside the Woman. Their numbers grow with each passing second.

She watches the monsters with a sad expression, "They were once people, Harry Potter."

"Why are they chasing me?"

She shrugs, "Why is the sky blue?"

The woman sighs, "Everyone always worries about the Wolves… They forget that there are darker things in this world than Wolves." Her eyes slide over to him, speculative, "Spiders that lie in webs of silk. The Praying Mantis that eats her mate; children already growing in her belly. The Termites, that eat and eat and eat, working away 'til there's nothing left; 'til all you have is a house crumbling down around your ears." Her head twitches, looking for a sound he can't hear, "And they're silent; so quiet. Like Death itself."

"Who are you?"

The Woman turns to him, and her hair falls about her shoulders in the same movement, "A friend. Who are  _you_ , Harry Potter?"

A shiver runs down his spine at the address. He cannot pin down the reason why, "I'm the Master of Death."

She huffs a laugh from her nose; lips twitching upwards in a wry smile, "Good answer." Her gaze returns to the shadow wolves and in the next moment is gone.

"What-" He has a chance to say before the tree begins to crumble around him- as if it were made of sawdust- golden dust rising like snow. And then the world realigns itself and he's falling once again. The wolves howl in victory as he lands heavily in the middle of the swarm and they pounce on him, gaping maws opening on his-

He wakes with a start, and for one horrifying moment he still feels the sensation of claws digging at his stomach. His hands fly to the bottom of his sleeping shirt, desperately seeking any evidence of damage, but there's none. His heart hammers away in his chest as though he's run a marathon, and he can feel the effects of adrenalin driving him wide awake. He sighs up at the featureless ceiling above, fully aware that he is unlikely to get back to sleep tonight. This is the third nightmare in as many days.

"Fuck." He says eloquently to the plasterboard and paint.

It says nothing in reply.

* * *

He waits for Hermione in the kitchen commune. She arrives sometime after six; he's halfway through his third cup of tea.

"I want to find Luna."

Hermione blinks at him over the makings of her breakfast, surprised, "Why?"

He shrugs helplessly, "I don't know. I just feel like we need to."

His friend frowns; eyes him warily, "Harry, these people aren't ours, and we're not theirs. Luna has her own life; her own friends and family. We're complete strangers to her- we've no right to go barging into their business."

He makes a troubled noise at the back of his throat, "I get that. I don't know why- I just think we need to go find  _her_. In particular."

Her gaze turns thoughtful; wary, "Is this a magic thing? Is something telling you we need to see her?"

"If I say yes, will you go with me?"

She rolls her eyes, "I'd go with you regardless, you know that."

"It was just a dream. Or three. Nothing special."

She purses her lips, "Special enough to make you want to find her immediately upon waking."

"Okay, a nightmare. And she was in it; Luna, but not Luna. I think it's this universe's Luna. She  _knew_ me Hermione."

She frowns in concern, but there's still a doubtful cast to her expression, "Harry, it could just be your subconscious, doing its thing. There are any number of explanations for this."

He sighs heavily, "My gut tells me we should find her."

Hermione smiles wryly, "Harry, need I recount the number of times your gut has been wrong? Because it's quite the list."

He grimaces, "It's gotten better! I was an Auror for over a decade- still not dead." She stares at him, unimpressed, "Please, Hermione. Come with me."

She sighs heavily, as though resigning herself to going through with an obnoxious child's request, "Fine. But let it be known that if things go awry, I maintain the right to say 'I told you so.'"

He pulls her into a grateful hug; he is relieved, "You can get Tony to buy me an 'I told you' cake, if the need takes you. Thank-you."

She grins wickedly, "Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the cake Tony will definitely have get for you."

* * *

It doesn't take much to convince their housemates that they needed to go to Britain.

Magic, as it turns out, is a reasonable excuse for many things; including looking for the doppelgänger of a woman they knew in their universe on little more motivation than some dreams Harry had had. Luna is easy to find- Hermione's search for people they knew back in their early days here had found her name registered in Winders Place; a hospice known for its care of those with mental health issues. According to her records- which Harry is  _very_  sure they aren't actually allowed to look at- she was admitted there with undifferentiated schizophrenia by her husband three years ago. Terms like  _frequent psychosis_ ;  _positive symptoms; olfactory and auditory hallucinations_ ; _confabulated future events_  and  _mild delusions of grandeur_  litter her mental history, along with other terms he can't even begin to comprehend.

Knowing of her uncanny ability to pinpoint truths and future events in their world, Harry knows Hermione was right not to write her off as mad. With mutants in this world, there was every chance her 'visions' were truly that.

With that said, finding themselves a companion to accompany them proves harder. Natasha and Clint are on a covert mission in who-knows-where; Steve is meant to be going to the children's ward in some hospital somewhere and Harry is reluctant to allow him to back down from the event on their behalf. Thor was… Thor, and was God knows where at the moment- knowing his amour for Jane Foster, Harry thinks it prudent not to ask. Tony was in Paris, as he'd been the last three days for some SI trade agreement; leaving only Bruce as their travel companion. Harry thinks it says a lot about how much the Avengers trust them, that no one even bats an eyelash at the idea of sending the scientist off with them. Bruce, who isn't exactly much of a threat to two capable magic users, outside of turning into a giant green rage monster.

They take a portkey sometime after nine. Bruce is only slightly reluctant after the last time, but confident of his capabilities. Harry's grateful- whilst he and Hermione did have their own admittedly illicit travel documents, portkey was a million times faster, and after three bad dreams with Luna, getting to her has gained a sense of urgency in his mind. He's not sure if he should be worried or not, and the reasonable warnings from Hermione war with his desire to find her.

They land in an empty field just south of Winders Place, hidden behind the gnarled line of a sickly looking yew hedge. Bruce lands with vaguely more aplomb than he had the last time, stumbling across the damp grass and looking a little green around the gills (the good kind of green thankfully… if there was any). Hermione gives the older man a commiserating smile.

"Okay?"

He nods tightly, "Enough. How do you ever get used to that?"

Harry shrugs, "Just desensitised. Used 'em so much you just know what to expect."

"Like a rollercoaster."

"Yeah, I guess."

Bruce sniffs and cautiously adjusts his skewed glasses. He peers through the hedge curiously, "So it's through here?"

Harry casts a sidelong glance at Hermione, who shrugs, "Unless I'm wrong, yes." He snorts in amusement- she makes it sound so unlikely.

Harry takes a long moment to appreciate the bitingly crisp, unfiltered air. There's nothing like the smell of the country, and he's missed it fiercely after being cooped up in New York for weeks on end. He copies Bruce and finds a gap in the sickly hedge; from here he can just make out the white walls of some large building, hidden behind its own share of trees on the other side of the road, "Pretty sure that's it." He points (rather meaninglessly) through the thinner section in the direction of the facility. Hermione nods primly, a smug smile on her lips.

He pushes through- uses a bit of magic to ease their way. He doubts it would have made much of an impression if they'd turned up covered in scratches and hair full of leaves.

The road is empty- a narrow, two lane country road that he's sure doesn't receive much traffic. The white lines that divide the road are faded and dirty, but several metres away to their right a clean metal sign states  _Winders Place, 200m_ , pointing to a long gravel driveway that crunches underfoot when they reach it. The day is bright and mostly clear (not that it means much in England), and sunlight pours through the gaps between the bare-skinned branches of the trees that line the drive, turning their path into a mosaic of dark tans, umbers and golds.

A stately building can be seen ahead; white, clean angles and messy lines of ivy, growing upwards, curling around barred windows and aged copper drain pipes. It's a remarkably peaceful place, made all the moreso by the general lack of people. It would be disconcerting were it not for the ten or so cars parked around to the left.

Hermione gives him a sideways glance, "It's… nice."

Bruce hums, slightly behind her, "Far better than a lot of the places I've seen."

"Bet it costs a fortune."

Bruce shrugs, "Probably." He frowns a moment, "Did- did you want me to sit out on this? I mean- I'm kind of just here to satisfy SHIELD. If you wanted to see your friend by yourselves, I don't mind finding somewhere to sit."

"She's technically not our friend." Hermione corrects him with a wry smile, "But it's up to you- if you want to sit out or join us, we don't mind either way."

Bruce rolls his eyes, "Do you guys have to work at being so noncommittal?"

Harry grins, "It's a skill."

"One not used nearly enough," Hermione adds, eyes laughing. They draw up to the glass doors of the hospice.

Bruce smiles self-depreciatingly and pulls out a book from his shoulder bag, "I might sit it out then. I wouldn't want to stress her out with too many people, anyway."

Harry presses his lips together to hide his smile at the thought of  _their_  Luna stressing about anything. For as long as he'd known her, Luna Lovegood had breezed through everything life had threw at her with that trademark dreamy smile on her face.

Bruce leaves them with an awkward wave; Hermione smiles after the scientist fondly as he wanders around the side of the right wing- the most likely place for a garden with seating. Harry pushes forwards through the glass doors and into the noticeably warmer interior. He takes in the bland cream walls, covered in a mismatch of artworks- professional-grade abstract works mingling oddly with the peeling collages and clumsy watercolours that are obviously made by the residents. It's a funny mix- like the place started out professional and business-like, but gave up part way through. Even the young man sitting behind the flashy reception clashes, in his casual knit sweater and messy blonde hair. His peeling nametag reads  _Luka._

He smiles broadly at them as they draw closer, "Can I help you?"

"Harry and Hermione Evans. We're looking for Luna?"

The man smiles, and his eyes travel up and down Harry's body appreciatively. He swallows- nervous about the mildly appreciative gleam in his eye. He hasn't garnered looks like that for a long time, "She told me you were coming."

Harry blinks stupidly, "Er, did she?"

An elegantly shaped brow rises. His lips twitch, "Yeah. About a week ago." He tilts his head, "You didn't know?"

Harry smiles bashfully to throw off the man's suspicion, "It was meant to be a surprise. Ma always says not enough people visit Auntie Luna."

The young man leans forwards and twirls a pen around in his hand. His smile turns sad, "Yeah. A lot of people in here don't get many visitors. Miss Lovegood especially. I don't think she's had any visitors since her husband died."

Harry stiffens; he hadn't known Rolf was dead. He fights to hide his surprise, "We're a bunch of lazy sods." He bites out.

"A lot of people are, mate." The blonde drawls, dismissive. He points to an open book on Harry's side of the glass, "Just enter your details in there, and stick them in these badges," He slides through a pair of plastic sleeve badges, hands lingering as though waiting for Harry to touch them. He swallow uncomfortably again. "Miss Lovegood is down the south wing, room 206."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

He and Hermione leave. His friend has a shit-eating grin on his face that can mean nothing good, "Don't say it."

"He seemed keen on you."

"Stop it."

"Nice looking, too."

"Don't care."

She makes a noncommittal noise. The kind that means she's unlikely to be noncommittal at all, "If you say so."

"I do say so." He finds the signs for the south wing and marches forwards, effectively cutting off anything more the witch had to say. Hermione huffs indignantly.

"I was only teasing, Harry!"

His lips twitch, "I know."

She huffs again as they turn a corner, taking the stairs up to the second level. She hits him lightly across the shoulders, "You arse!"

"You're the one hooking up with Tony. I'd have thought you'd have been used to it by now. Not to mention  _you're_  the one making nice with Malfoy. And he's the biggest arse that ever did arse."

She hums, "He's in the same boat as we are, Harry. Only he has no sunscreen."

"I don't know- you'd at least count for a SPF fifteen."

She hits him again, "You are such a prat!" A young nurse walking past them bites her lips to hide a smile. He winks at her and she grins, ducking her head shyly as they pass each other.

They forego the lift for the stairs. The two of them racing each other up like they're twelve again, and when they reach the second floor (though technically it's the third) both pretend that they haven't just run up three flights of stairs, restraining their gasps into heavy breathing through the nose. Both of them are grinning as they walk at a far more sedate pace down the short-ish corridor, counting down the numbers on the rooms, with their hand-written name plates.

_206: Luna Lovegood_

The door is open- pushed back as far as it will go, and a soft singing emanates from inside; a high-pitched hum that Harry immediately associates with their old friend. He stands on the threshold and looks inside. A woman stands at her window, looking down at something below. She sings a string of nonsensical lyrics to herself, tilting her head to each side. Her long blonde hair catches on her clothes.

He clears his throat, "Luna? Luna Lovegood?" The singing stops and the woman turns around, a bright smile on her face.

"Harry. Hermione. It's about time."

He stares at the woman- familiar, but different. Her clothes were remarkably normal- comfortable tan slacks and a billowy blouse underneath a thick, white-knit cardigan, but she wore her characteristic eccentricities in other ways; flowers in her dirty blonde hair- silk and real; a necklace made of small black zip-ties; feet clad in brightly coloured, mismatched socks. She seems younger than he'd imagined a woman with no magical preservation to be- he wonders if her mutant gene was to thank for that.

She watches them as intently as they regard her, "Huh." She remarks, eyeing him thoughtfully, "You look older than I'd expected."

He blinks; nonplussed, "That's… not something I hear every day, but okay."

She laughs at his bewilderment, "Don't worry Harry," she says lightly and pats his cheek, "You look old to six year olds."

"That doesn't really help, Luna."

She frowns thoughtfully, "Really? I thought it would; six year olds are really very perceptive, you know."

He's interrupted from formulating a reply by the arrival of the medicine trolley. "Meds time Miss Lovegood!" the cheery little nurse says with a sunny smile. She offers Luna a small cup of pills and a plastic cup filled with water. Harry watches the exchange with something that feels very much like guilt settling in his gut; right next to the unpleasantly bland meal he and Hermione had eaten from the convenience store down the road.

"Thank-you Evelyn," Luna says, and swallows the collection of medication with a little grimace. The nurse- whose nametag reads  _Sally_ \- just smiles at her in thinly veiled confusion.

"Enjoying the company, Ms Lovegood? It must be good to have your children come to visit you."

Harry startles, "We're not-"

"Yes it is rather lovely." Luna cuts him off with a serene smile. "Although they haven't visited me nearly as much as they should, if you ask me." She pats his arm as she speaks, her tone entirely incongruent with her words. He rolls his eyes, "Of course, I'll be leaving soon, so the company won't matter terribly much, I dare say."

The young woman's smile becomes strained; taut. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm." She nods, turning away to face Harry again, "Off you go now Evelyn, if you'd be so kind." Sally backs out of the room, taking with her a strong sense of confusion.

The moment the nurse leaves, Luna spits the two small pills into her hand. There's an air of nonchalance to the action that tells them this is a common occurrence. "They blur things," She offers in explanation, and casually throws them though the slats in her window, "The newer ones are always so trusting."

"Her nametag said Sally." Hermione notes, choosing not to say anything about the other woman's rebellion.

"Evelyn suits her better; I don't think her parents much thought about fitting her to her name. Such a shame."

"You're leaving?"

"Oh yes. I've been stagnant for far too long. I've already contacted some colleagues of mine in America. They'll be picking me up later this week. Charles has a school, last I heard- the children will be a change."

"Er." He offers intelligently. Luna hums as if he makes perfect sense.

"I was really only waiting for you, you know. I've needed a change of scenery for a long time now. The walls here are far too  _beige_." She grimaces as though the word causes her some offence.

"… Sorry?"

"It's okay. I knew you would be late."

She sighs and looks longingly out the second story window. A deep-seated sadness etches itself into the lines of her face. "I miss my Rolf. My sight's never been the same since he went looking for unicorns." She clutches at her elbows and rests her pale forehead against the glass; looks down at the garden below, "I toldhim. I  _told_ him he'd find dragons instead, but he didn't  _listen_." She makes a soft sound of frustration or grief, "All the flowers withered and died, you know. But I could never get rid of those damn weeds." He lays a hand on a curled shoulder and squeezes. She tangles her fingers with his. The sadness lingers.

"The world's been dark for a long time, Harry Potter… I worry."

He swallows back the tightness in his throat, "Worry about what, Luna?"

"The Wolves. Little Red. The creatures that hide in forests and eat children whole. There seem to be so many of them these days." Her eyes flicker to where Hermione sits, silent, with that faint, bewildered look she'd often ended up wearing when their Luna spoke. She smiles at the other woman in understanding and Hermione flushes, "I think some tea is in order, don't you?"

Hermione smiles then, the other woman finally speaking her language, "That sound's like a wonderful idea."

Luna nods decisively and busies herself at the tiny kitchenette in the corner of her room. As the electric kettle boils she pulls out three aged teacups. There's a reverence to the way she handles the slightly chipped cups that has Harry swallowing down his sadness. He wonders how much is actually hers in this small but cosy room.

"Teabags only, I'm afraid." She says to the wall, "And I've no milk. Technically I don't think I'm allowed a kettle, but the nurses never say anything about it."

"That's fine."

Luna hums quietly as she pours the water into their cups and carefully passes them over. They thank her, and Luna leans against the kitchenette, holding the teacup delicately in her left hand. Her eyes wander to the darkening sky outside her window. She smiles.

"I saw a triple rainbow once."

Harry raises an eyebrow. He'll never understand how  _any_  Luna's mind worked- the sharp twists and turns they took with little provocation, "Really?"

"Mmm. No one ever believed me, but it was as real as you or I. One after the other. Roy-gee-biv. I half thought the world was going to end." She takes a sip of her piping hot tea, a soft look of indignation on her face, "Especially when everyone told me I was imagining things."

Harry hides a smile behind his chipped cup.

* * *

Luna insists they take her out into the gardens sometime after their tea. Harry would rather not- the skies have darkened to an all too familiar grey that all-but guarantees rain- but he's not sure when they'll have change to see Luna again; not if she's leaving Winders Place. So they agree, and he and Hermione accompany the woman out into the frigid air. He can already smell the oncoming rain.

Bruce sits with a well-worn book beneath an umbrella and they wave to him as they walk past. In his non-descript clothing he could almost be mistaken for a resident. He gives them a smile and a small wave back, and returns the curious look Luna lands on him with one of his own. The scientist and the seer remain in silent regard of each other for a long moment, before Luna nods minutely and moves along.

Luna takes their elbows and leads them along the gravel path. The yellow stones crunch underfoot. In the cold air there is little else outside but them.

"These gardens are lovely." Hermione remarks when they're out of earshot of anybody. She's right- even in the onset of winter, there are pink and red and white camellias, and lilac-blue butterfly bushes and the stripped down bodies of birch and beech and cherry trees. Most of their leaves are gone- it's late November and winter will be here soon.

Luna hums, "They let some of us tend to them. For many, to watch things grow is a healing process. This garden has helped many a wounded soul find its missing pieces."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I help out sometimes- add a little chaos to the mix to keep them on their toes." She smiles wryly, "But there was never anything broken or bent in me that needed to be fixed."

Hermione makes a sound of discomfort, perplexed, "Then why are you here? Wouldn't you be happier at home?"

Luna shrugs, "I asked Rolf to send me here. The Sight… it's taxing. It comes when it pleases- there was never much I could do to control it. Rolf was forced to take care of me when I had a vision." She stops walking and pulls up the sleeve of her left arm. A thin scar runs down her wrist- so white it almost glows, "I fell down the stairs more than once in the midst of a vision."

She lets go of Harry's arm and bends down beside an empty flowerbed. She picks up a quartz stone and pockets it, for reasons that escape him, "Rolf was always a wandering spirit. It was slowly killing him." She straightens and wanders on, "So I made him let me go."

"Oh Luna," Hermione says in sympathy, "I'm so sorry."

Luna shrugs and pats the witch's hand, "Everything crumbles to dust someday. His someday came and went and the world kept on turning. We had a good decade together."

"But you must miss him terribly."

The Seer looks away. She stares blankly at the thick, waxy leaves of a white flowering camellia, "I do. Very much so."

It begins to rain then- bitingly cold, just as he'd expected. Hermione utters an oath and without a second thought casts a rain-repelling charm on the three of them.

Like a switch has been flipped, Luna laughs in delight at the display of magic and it's so similar to  _their_  Luna's laughter that his heart positively aches at the sound.

"Oh, that is  _glorious!_ " She exclaims, waving her arms to test the barriers of the spell. Her eyes fall on the wand still in Hermione's hand, "May I?"

They glance around warily, but the rain has sent any possible witnesses inside (excluding Bruce, who remains unperturbed beneath the canopy of the shade- Hermione had cast on him a toasty warming charm a few hours before). His best friend shrugs, "I suppose so."

She hands the wand over with no small degree of caution. Luna accepts the object with reverence, eyes shining in fascination. Her fingers curl around the thin strip of wood, and for the briefest of moments Harry feels the twitch of  _something;_ a pull of something in magic of the land. There is a rustling of wind in the shrubs around them, but almost instantly the sensation is replaced by the steady fall of the rain. Luna smiles.

"Worth a try, I suppose." She murmurs, and hands the wand back to Hermione. Harry wonders at the minute reaction, and suspects that whatever magic was in her (for sure that there was some, to garner any reaction at all) was too distorted by time and by blood to be used by something as focussed as a wand.

"It's remarkable," Luna remarks, turning back to the camellia, "To imagine what you could do with a  _world_  of people like you."

Harry snorts, "Not very much, I'm afraid."

Luna's eyes are sad again when she turns back to them. She moves back over to where they stand, "I forget, sometimes… I saw the three of you appear- I knew you weren't from this world- you were all too strange- too different. Even the taste of you was off." She cups a cheek with a cold, soft hand. He swallows back the rush of unexpected emotions the contact brings, "And yet I still forget that you're of another world."

"Ca-can we ever go back?"

Luna leans forward and kisses his other cheek tenderly.

"Oh my dear. I don't know.

* * *

A nurse appears sometime later; hurrying down the path, huddled beneath a clear-plastic umbrella. She scowls as she catches sight of the three of them, standing beside the empty limbs of a birch tree. Hermione shares her own 'umbrella' (actually a transfigured bundle of sticks) with Luna- halfway through a tale of her travels with Rolf, before her sight became untenable- whilst Harry stands in the shelter of another.

"Goodness, Ms Lovegood," The woman huffs crossly in a thick Scottish accent, "It's freezing out here- you'll get a cold staying out in the rain." She glares reprovingly at Harry and Hermione, as if they were the ones who'd insisted on staying out in the cold (it wasn't of course, but Luna said the cold helped blow the weeds away).

The other woman hums, "I thought it was quite pleasant out actually, Beatrice." The nurse (whose name is most likely  _not_  Beatrice, but Harry can't see a name tag to tell) frowns harder.

"Be that as it may, it's tea time soon. And I'm sorry," She turns to Hermione, looking distinctly  _un_ -sorry, "But visiting hours are over."

Hermione nods good naturedly, "We're terribly sorry- we haven't seen Auntie Luna for a long time- we lost track of the time."

Beatrice looks up doubtfully at the sky- it  _has_  gotten quite dark over the last half hour, "Right. Well you'll just have to catch up with Ms Lovegood another day." She smiles then- strained, but not entirely unfriendly, "I'm sure it would be good for her to have a few more visitors."

Hermione nods, "Of course."

Luna tugs on Harry's arm as the nurse leads them back to the main building. Bruce is nowhere to be seen, but he's not worried, "I'll find  _you_  next time Harry," She murmurs to him, "It's easier."

He nods slowly, giving her a curious look, "Who are they? You  _do_  know them, right?"

She suppresses a broad grin, "They're my sort of people. Mutants." He starts at the whispered word and she squeezes his arm, "Charles and I have been friends a long time- before I ever found Rolf. It's been a standing offer for quite some time now. I thought it best to cash in."

"And they'll take care of you?"

She gives him an almost pitying smile, "Harry, dear. The best."

Beatrice allows them to say their goodbyes inside, though her body language speaks of her wanting to kick them out as soon as possible. Harry tries not to take it personally.

"I'll see you soon Hermione, I'm sure." Luna smiles at the witch, pulling her into a tight embrace. Hermione momentarily stiffens- the lines of her body pulling taught- and Harry catches their friend whispering something into her ear. He studies Hermione's face when the pair pull apart- she wears a broad smile, but he's known her long enough to catch the way its falsehood shows in her eyes. Whatever Luna's said has left his best friend troubled.

Luna moves to him and pulls him into a fierce hug. He squeezes her back, wishing for a moment that it was his Luna he was embracing. Luna sighs, and whispers, "Don't forget about those Termites, Harry. They'll eat the world whole if you let them."

She pulls back and he schools his face into something like Hermione's, "I'll keep it mind." He says, fighting to keep his voice level and happy. Luna huffs a laugh through her nose.

"We'll see." She bites her lip and turns away, nodding to Beatrice as she leaves. The nurse nods to them, and follows after her, leaving them alone.

Bruce is waiting for them in the reception, sitting in one of the chairs provided. It's dark outside the glass doors, and his hunched figure is cast in double by its reflection. He looks up when they enter and smiles.

"All good?"

Harry thinks on the question. He's not entirely sure what he'd expected- for her to be in danger? For her to have some kind of message for him? Whatever it was she wanted them for, the sense of urgency he'd felt that morning is gone. He nods to the scientist, "Yeah."

Bruce looks relieved, "Home then?" Hermione laughs, and moves to take the older man's arm in hers.

"Home sounds perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not a psych major... and whilst I didn't just pull the terms in reference to Luna's 'mental condition' out of my arse, and did research them, I'm aware that there are very likely errors in them, and some of them are perhaps not applicable to someone who'd be in the same position as Luna. Corrections are welcome, and I'd love to hear psychology talk from people (smart talk is the best talk), but be aware that I'm super crazy busy and may not have a chance to reply/change things right away.
> 
> Anyways, other than that, what did you think? Did you like her? Think she was in character? As always I adore reviews. :P
> 
> Don't forget you can always check me out on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Don't know when the next update will be. Hopefully- HOPEFULLY in the next couple of weeks.
> 
> Until then, Ciao!
> 
> Cinna


	4. In Which More Dragons are Required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. It's been about a month. Kind of wish it hadn't been as long, but if it's any consolation, this chapter is over 7000 words. Also its (finally; finally) from Hermione's perspective. I've been dying to write her for fucking ages, so I hope you enjoy her perspective :D
> 
> Thank-you to everyone who reviewed! Your contributions are always cherished!

 

"Umm." A woman says behind her, "This isn't normally occupied."

Hermione jumps, but restrains herself from drawing her wand. She turns and smiles at the young woman in the obscenely bright Christmas sweater that stands awkwardly in the doorway of her lab, "I've been here a few weeks now."

The woman gives her a one-shouldered shrug, "I've been away a few weeks. My boss doesn't exactly pay much attention to things around her. Like new lab buddies."

Hermione's lips quirk upwards, "Science seems to have that effect on the people in this tower, I've noticed."

The other woman wiggles her eyebrows in affirmation, "Story of my life." She steps forward, thrusting out her hand- her nails match the sweater, Hermione notices, "Darcy Lewis. Scientist Herder.'

Hermione lets out a startled laugh, "Scientist Herder?"

Darcy wiggles her eyebrows again, "Far more precarious than cat herding. Trust me. More explosions for one."

Hermione's mind fills with examples of science gone wrong at the hands of a bored Tony Stark, "No, I can believe that." She glances around the lab sheepishly- many of the whiteboards she'd insisted on getting have runes and arithmantic equations and calculations written across them- it must look bizarre to a third party, "Hermione Granger. Not quite a scientist- more like an occult specialist."

Darcy eyes one of her boards doubtfully, "This looks like maths on crack."

She laughs, "In a way you'd probably be right."

A grin twitches at the other woman's maroon lips, "So the occult… like, voodoo and stuff? Never knew it had so much maths."

Hermione shrugs, unwilling to give away too much to a woman she's never met before- even if she obviously has the security clearance to work in one of the labs, "It falls under the spectrum I suppose." A thought suddenly occurs to her and she frowns, "This is a restricted area… how did you get in here?"

Darcy's lips quirk again, "J and I are total bro's." The grin grows wider, "And apparently, you haven't changed the passcode. I used to come down here on my lunch breaks."

Hermione rolls her eyes sheepishly. Typical she'd forget about security measures like that. Then again, the wards she put up when leaving were a pretty heavy deterrent for any would-be trespassers, "Used to?"

Darcy holds up a paper bag, wiggling it as she talks, "I've been on holidays the last few weeks. Guess a lot's changed since I've been gone; not that Jane thought to tell me."

"Jane- Jane Foster? You're her assistant?"

Darcy huffs a laugh through her nose, "That famous, huh?"

She shrugs, and sits down, relaxing slightly at the familiar ground, "Thor had been lamenting your loss. Apparently Jane forgets things like sleep when you're not around to badger her." Not that it was atypical behaviour for the scientists she knew in the Tower. Tony had a tendency go on for days without a full night's sleep when inspiration took him; stopping only for the occasional catnap or slice of pizza. How he didn't have a head full of grey hair or died of exhaustion was beyond her.

Darcy rolls her eyes, "Like I said; scientist herder. Genius breeds insomniacs. Kind of a shock after working with, you know- normal people- all my life."

"I can imagine." Darcy grabs a nearby wheelie chair and sits- giving it a twirl as she does so.

"So, Hermione of the Grange; how does an occult specialist end up in a place like Stark's monument to himself? And get to know Thor too; this is something I have to hear."

* * *

She doesn't tell Darcy why she's here; or at least, not the full story. But she does enjoy the other woman's company for the next hour.

* * *

Hermione loves her lab.

It reminds her of home. It's nothing like her old one of course- there's far too much technology embedded in the room for that, and the lines of the lab are too clean and modern- but the essence of the space is almost identical to the one she'd fitted into her first home- the one she'd made for herself after Ron. Her lab is a place of learning; of pushing barriers and testing and redefining theories and hypotheses. It's a sanctuary and a refuge. She can't thank Tony enough for the space.

At the moment she's working on integrating magic with one of Tony's Starkphone's. It's tricky work, trying to alter its capabilities and making it compatible with the unpredictable levels of magic she and her companions naturally emit. It's not exactly new or ground-breaking work- certainly not in  _their_  universe- but in the wizarding world magitech was a heavily patented and jealously guarded niche market, dominated by small-time business that all dreamed of making it as big as their muggle counterparts.

The Ministry however- thanks to their insular policies and muggle-phobic ideals- was largely uninterested in investing in such developments, meaning that Hermione has next to no experience in the area. It's slow going and expensive work, much of which is trial and error. After a month of work she's already gone through about twenty phones, and her bench spaces are littered with phone components, dissected batteries and circuit boards in various states of brokenness (the parts that are still functioning are relegated to a far smaller pile in the far corner of her workshop). Draco helps some days, but he knows even less about magitech than  _she_  does (and Harry… well, Harry's strengths have always lain in defensive magics. Research and experimentation had never been his thing). Their lack of experience and knowledge in the area led to some interesting moments.

" _Bloody hell!_ " Draco snarls, angrily tossing the smoking remnants of a battery onto the pile of similarly ruined pile of technology.

Hermione snorts, "I told you that rune wouldn't work." The blonde glares at her. She grins at him; all teeth, "Flexibility unbalances the enhancement runes. It see-saws between too much power and too little, growing quicker on each cycle. The flux makes it overheat."

"Yes, well I know that now. You don't have to be so bloody smug about it."

"It's an involuntary reaction to moments when I am inadvertently correct. I can't help it."

Draco rolls his eyes, "I call bullshit." Hermione throws a ball of paper at his head when he turns away. The wizard makes an indignant sound, "What are you, five?"

She gives him the side eye, "Do I look five years old to you?"

"Well you're no Potter, that's for sure."

She opens her mouth to retort (she kind of loved their little snark-athons) but is interrupted by the  _fwish_  of the lab door.

"Yo Granger! Where's your boyfr- oh."

"Darcy,  _hi_. It's nice to see you too. Please just come right on in." Darcy and Tony have the irritating propensity to enter without asking for permission, she'd learnt. The younger woman's been over several times in the last few weeks; and Hermione gets the sense that she's taken her under her metaphorical wing; adding her to her slowly growing menagerie of scientists. She's not entirely sure what to think about the idea; she'd like to imagine she was far more capable of taking care of herself than Jane or Tony. Even so, Hermione wasn't afraid to say that she enjoyed the Herder's presence. She was witty, sarcastic and intelligent, in her own way.

"Hey." The woman replies, unaffected by her sarcasm. She nods at Draco, "I didn't know you even got guests. I thought you were a hermit, like Jane."

"Only when it suits me. This is Draco Malfoy; an associate of mine. Malfoy this is Darcy Lewis. She works with Jane Foster."

Darcy eyes him speculatively. Draco appears to be doing the same, only with far more suspicion. The other woman's lips twitch up into a smirk, "A pleasure." She purrs. Hermione's eyes widen (because no. Just… no), but Malfoy's mouth spreads into a smirk that mirrors Darcy's.

"Miss Lewis. Lovely to make your acquaintance." And then the bastard  _kisses her hand_. Hermione fights a shudder and from the glance he throws her way, she's entirely sure he's doing it to get on her nerves. The incorrigible twat.

A light blush spreads across Darcy's cheeks when he pulls back, but she looks entirely too smug for Hermione's comfort, "Yeah."

Malfoy looks back at his desk, a flicker of past irritation crossing his face. He sighs. It  _sounds_  genuine, "I don't think I'm going to get much more done today. I'm going to give it a break for today."

Hermione waves at him dismissively, "Go ahead." She doesn't mind; it's not as if he is a constant companion anyway, and Draco Malfoy was a person that needed to be taken in relatively small doses. She'd end up killing him out of irritation otherwise, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Miss Lewis." He leaves the lab, but not without a final once over of Darcy. She flutters her eyelashes at him, and Hermione's entirely sure that if she'd been wearing a low-cut top his eyes would be planted firmly on her breasts. She rolls her eyes fiercely as he exits and picks up the mug of tea she'd forgotten she'd made.

Darcy lets out a low whistle as soon as the door closes behind him, "Hot damn. If that's what all occult specialists look like, then sign me up."

Hermione chokes on her cold tea, "Oh God-  _please no_. He's a twat."

The curvier woman looks put out but hopeful; "A charming twat? Because I can work with that. Really I'd like to just climb him like a tree."

She groans and rubs her face, "Not a mental image I needed, thank-you."

Darcy grins, "I aim to please."

"You aim at something; not sure it's pleasing though. What was it you wanted?"

Darcy's face darkens, "I've a bone to pick with Stark. Pretty sure he gave coffee maker sentience, and now it refuses to make anything but babyccinos." Hermione grimaces at the thought, "Exactly. The thing's damn near indestructible too- and I'm pretty sure the bastard welded it to the wall, and he locked me out of his labs, so I can't find him anywhere."

Hermione hides her amusement behind her cold cup of tea. Darcy's eyes narrow anyway, "Oh no. You don't get to laugh at our misery Miss I-only-drink-tea-'cause-I'm-British. Nu-uh."

She does laugh then, "I don't know where he is. He said something about a hammer this morning?"

Darcy raises a brow. It's very artful, "You're not sure? This is your boyfriend we're talking about right now, you realise. I feel like there should be more concern here."

Hermione shrugs helplessly, "I was working! He was in and out before I had a chance to register it all." Her eyes veer off to the work bench suspiciously clear of things in the far end of the room. His farewell had been rather… enthusiastic. She wasn't about to complain.

Darcy smirks and nods at something in the general direction of her neck, "Well I'm sure he was in and out of  _something_."

Hermione splutters and slaps a hand to her neck where she's absolutely sure a hickey must be sitting, her face growing hot, but can't bring herself to say anything. It was a  _very good_  farewell. Darcy snorts and points towards to bench, "Well I really hope you disinfected that afterwards.

"Yes." She manages to deliver with some semblance of a deadpan tone.

The other woman shrugs and moves back onto the original point of conversation, "What's he want a hammer for, anyway? Is he going to buy one? I though that's what his 'people' were for."

Hermione scrunches up her face, "I think I remember him saying something about his suit to Jarvis before he left."

Darcy stares at her, bewildered, "He took his suit to go to the  _hardware store?_ Are you sure he wasn't just after Mew-mew?"

She purses her lips, embarrassed. She's not normally this uninformative, "Well it may not have been an  _actual_  hammer. I was a little distracted, and he kind of just garbled some words at me."

Darcy chews on her lip, thoughtful, "Hammer Industries used to be one of SI's major weapons competitors, but they went bankrupt a couple years ago; Justin Hammer went to jail and everything." She looks up at the ceiling, "Jarvis, is Stark doing something in regards to Justin Hammer?"

" _I apologise, Miss Lewis, but I am unable to divulge the purpose of Sir's mission at this point in time._ "

She pouts, but shrugs her shoulders, "Avengers stuff then, I guess."

"I guess." Hermione echoes. There's a feeling of concern insidiously wrapping its way around her ribcage at Jarvis' lack of information. She tells herself it's only mildly unreasonable to be worried.

Darcy glances down at her watch, and then at the door. She sighs "Well, if I can't get my fix here, Starbucks will have to do." She raises her brow at Hermione again, "You up for an adventure, Granger?"

She stares into her ruined tea. A chai latte sounded pretty good right now, "I don't really think a trip to level three counts as an adventure."

She snorts, "Then you've never been to a New York coffee shop at lunchtime. Aren't you in for a treat."

* * *

SHIELD gives them the all clear three weeks before Christmas.

Draco celebrates the announcement by disappearing at the first opportunity, his only promise that he'd be back is a muttered 'see you in a week' to Hermione. She's not worried though; for all the blonde's posturing, she's fairly sure he likes the Tower. Maybe not like Harry and her, but enough to at least return after his trip to who knows where.

She doesn't dwell on it all that much, really. In all honesty, she'd always seen the agreement they'd made with SHIELD as more of a token deal, designed to imply their cooperation. Hermione was more than confident that if it came down to it, there was little SHIELD could do against them breaking it-  _if_  they so felt like it (she didn't even have to think about the incident with Loki to know that SHIELD and the Avengers were largely unprepared to deal with magic users). She was convinced that the three of them would be more than capable of hiding or defending themselves against the organisation.

Not that she  _planned_  on going up against SHIELD- for the most part it was alright- but there's always been something about faceless organisations with seemingly endless power and bottomless pockets that left her leery and on edge. There is no doubt in her mind that SHIELD holds its own multitude of secret and unspoken agendas, and that was hardly a situation she was going to hand herself into willingly- certainly not without an exit strategy. But in the meantime, the agreement suited her. She had her closest friend, secure living quarters and a support network that guaranteed her and Harry's safety in the future.

Harry takes the opportunity to disappear into the city- he takes Steve along with him most times, but the first few days he explored the city alone. The younger man is a local, after all (time displacement or not), and she knows Harry likes Steve's company, and Steve his (though honestly, Hermione suspect Steve just enjoys the opportunity to leave the Tower with someone who isn't a teammate). She doesn't offer to go along with them; she's been in close contact with Harry for far too long, and best friends or not, both of them need the separation (as it was, she was fortunate to have the lab Tony had offered her, to escape to when people became too much).

She doesn't bother going anywhere the first couple of days; she'd hit a breakthrough in the storage capabilities of the phone, and hadn't wanted to be distracted, but now that all the kinks have been worked out she's keen to venture out of the Tower. She chooses to go to Central Park- it's somewhere she'd wanted to check out ever since they were palmed off to the Avengers, but all of her housemates were far too high profile to be able to travel anywhere with any level of anonymity.

The air outside is freezing and the wind is even worse and she loves every minute of it; even though the sky has the look of rain about it and her feet are aching by the time she reaches the well-known park. She hasn't walked any kind of distance for a long time, and she's almost embarrassed by how unfit she is. In the long years after the War, paranoia had kept her fit; the memories of the time left her edgy and unsettled in a way that only running or duelling could dissipate. As she'd grown older and her wounds had healed and scarred, the running decreased to long walks- petering out when the resurgence of Death Eaters had made travelling alone too dangerous.

She resolves to start running again, and duelling with Harry (and Draco, possibly). They'd have to find a patch of wilderness and ward the crap out of it, but she's sure in a continent as large as North America there'd be plenty of spaces to choose from.

 _Even Central Park would be a good place_ , she notes in amusement, halfway through the park. With its open spaces, forested areas and even the ponds and lakes… it was perfect for the task… well, were it not for all the people. Even less than three weeks from Christmas with winter coming in full force, the park is filled with enough people to have her on guard. Many of them are tourists, if the multitude of large, chunky cameras are anything to go by, but there are still plenty of locals. She sits at one of the numerous benches and rests her umbrella beside her knee.

She stays like that- people watching- for well over an hour, happy to let her mind go blank and comfortably warm beneath a blanket of magic. When the rain falls, she sighs and pulls out her phone. She draws a rune on the screen, disengaging the rudimentary shields surrounding it. She and Malfoy hadn't gotten so far as to create fully functioning magitech so the shielding was only a makeshift solution to the problem. It protected the phone from any strong bursts of magic, but it also blocked out the phone signals itself, rendering it completely useless as a phone when the shielding was up.

The screen lights up with a new message almost immediately,  _Where are you?_ The text from Tony reads, _I'm bored and you disappeared._

She rolls her eyes, but can't stop the smile that tugs at her lips. It feels nice to be wanted,  _Go be bored with Bruce. I'm out._

The reply is almost instantaneous,  _Not bored for Science._ A pause, then a new message,  _should I be worried._

She shakes her head. The man probably knew exactly where she was already. She doesn't put it past him to locate her through her phone's gps the moment it came back in range,  _Yes, I'm meeting my new beau. I found this one on Craigslist… Your services are no longer needed_.

Tony sends her back a picture of him making out with Dum-E in retaliation. She bursts into laughter. The couple hurrying past her jump and send her odd looks.

 _I wanted some time alone_.

_So you went to a place full of people?_

She huffs a laugh and hitches her carefully balanced umbrella a bit higher on her shoulder,  _There's a certain anonymity public places afford you._ She thinks better of that statement as soon as she presses send,  _Well, maybe not for you…_

_Haha Queenie._

_I'm hilarious._

_Up for debate._  She pouts,  _Don't pout._

The pout is replaced by a frown. Her eyes stray to the innocuous forward facing camera of her phone, a suspicion growing in her mind,  _Are you watching me through my phone?!_

The device vibrates softly in her hand as a series of texts come through,  _Don't be ridiculous._

_Big Brother style surveillance is a stretch, even for me._

_For one, that monstrosity of yours doesn't have enough reception._

_Also- weird. You already live in the same building as me. Further stalking isn't necessary._

_And I'd like to think I know you pretty well by now, Queenie._

She fights a smile, but that little sliver of unease remains in her mind. She likes Tony- a lot. To the extent that she's sure she could love him, if it came down to it. But… his idea of privacy and personal boundaries are strangely skewed and twisted. She suspects it's partly the result of being surrounded by Jarvis twenty-four-seven. The awareness that a fully sentient AI knew where you were and what you were doing all of the time was bound to mess with one's social mores. That, coupled with the ease of life that money could buy, and his own infamy meant that it was easy for him to forget that not everyone shared his oddly lax yet remarkably tough views on privacy. The thought worries her, sometimes. His lopsided principles must have gained him an awful lot of enemies by now.

 _Don't spy on me unless I let you_.

Tony sends her through an eye-rolling emoji.  _Like I'd want to risk being turned into a newt._ She grins, and another text comes through,  _Could say the same thing for you. :P_  Her smile fades, but she hopes the emoji attached implies that he's not actually angry at her. She couldn't blame him if he was; in hindsight it was a pretty hypocritical thing to say.

 _Duly noted._ A policeman passes her on a pushbike. She watches him glide past- he must be freezing.

_Will you come home now? Still bored._

Hermione snorts. She's fairly sure the entire premise of this conversation had been Tony's 'subtle' way of making a booty call.  _Give me five._ She replies, and draws the protection rune back on the screen. It goes dark and she slips in back into her coat pocket. She smooths down the creases in the wool as she stands, stomping her feet to get the blood moving again.

She moves away, back towards a spot she'd noticed before; private, secluded and obscenely muddy- the best muggle repellent of all in winter. She soldiers through the slippery surface, only stumbling once. Her sneakers are filthy by the time she reaches the copse of trees. She crouches down low, minimising her silhouette, and with a precursory glance at the space around her, smiles and apparates away.

The soft  _pop_  her passing leaves behind alerts nothing but a startled pigeon.

* * *

"I need you."

Hermione looks up from her careful work of a circuit board. Darcy stands beside her workbench, looking on curiously. Hermione grips her wand a little tighter. She really should remember to update the security codes sometime. It's not that she distrusts Darcy, but she doesn't know how much she knows; and how much she's  _allowed_  to know. So far she's been fairly close-lipped about her work (even if everything is out in the air in her lab, she's acutely aware that almost all of it is completely indecipherable to anyone who isn't a wizard)- unwilling to tell her something that she's not allowed to hear.

"You do?" She asks carefully. Darcy tears her eyes away from the circuit board- and more importantly, her wand.

"Yeah. I just got my Christmas bonus- yay me- and I want something pretty. We're going shopping."

Hermione blinks in surprise. This is the first invite she's received from Darcy to do something out of the Tower- to be truthful she hadn't really expected anything of the sort- not for some time anyway, but the inclusion leaves her feeling warm and content inside. Even so, she purses her lips, "It's the week before Christmas; you realise that, right? The shops will be absolutely psychotic."

Darcy grins. It's a little vicious around the edges. Hermione feels like she should be a little scared, "I know, right! C'mon, it'll be great."

She grimaces at the thought, "Why aren't you taking Jane?"

Darcy sends her a look of horror, "Are you kidding me? I love Janey, but the woman wears plaid on a regular basis.  _Plaid,_ Hermione. It's awful."

Her lips quirk up; she  _had_  noticed that, "Not a shopping fan?"

Darcy shakes her head in an emphatic no, "No. God no. Or an eating fan, or a sleeping fan- occasionally not a shower fan either. She  _is_  a Thor fan though." The younger woman wiggles her eyebrows lewdly and Hermione laughs and rolls her eyes.

"Is this a now thing? Or can I at least get changed first?"

Darcy gives her a once-over; quick and clinical, "You can get changed, I suppose. You'll need your coat, at any rate."

Hermione snorts, "Gee thanks." She stands, packing her work away safely and running her fingers across the long string of runes carved into the metal work bench. They thrum beneath her fingers as they activate and form a ward over her work. The wards protected the electronics inside from contamination and held any unfinished spells in place until they could be completed. It was an invaluable trick she'd learnt as an Unspeakable.

She sends Darcy an expectant look at the door, "You coming?" The girl's eyes widen momentarily at the invite, but she nods and follows her to the elevator.

"I've not been on this level before." She remarks as they exit the lift, "To be fair, I hadn't really thought much about where you live-slash-sleep." Hermione makes a non-committal noise.

"It's only Harry, Draco and I here." Though Merlin only knew where Malfoy was at the moment. He'd turned up a couple of days ago, looking pink-faced and wind-burnt, but he'd only stayed the night, disappearing again the next morning. She's not even sure he'll be back for Christmas (or if he would even want to be).

Darcy hums, "Must be nice, living on top of where you work."

Hermione sends her a nonplussed look, "You  _don't_?" Honestly, knowing Tony's habit of inviting people into the tower, she'd have thought she'd be right here with Doctor Foster.

"Well, he offered, and Jane was kind of insistent of me living with her, but as tempting as it sounds, Thor has a tendency to walk around naked, and he and Jane have really,  _really_  loud sex."

Hermione blinks, "I did not want to have to think about that. And now I am. So thank-you for that."

"No worries." Darcy replies cheerfully, "And you know, I wanted to experience New York's abhorrent rental prospects for myself."

She raises an eyebrow, "And how's that going for you?"

Darcy laughs, "Well the week before last the cops raided the room down the hall from me for drugs, and I'm pretty sure the mould in my bathroom is about to gain sentience, but who cares about silly things like that."

Hermione stares at her in disbelief, "That's not really a comforting thing to hear."

"I like to think of it as an adventure, every day. And besides, I always have my plus two gun of power with me. I'm pretty safe."

"… Right." She swipes her hand across the sensors on her door and lets them in.

Darcy lets out a low whistle as they walk inside, "Holy shit, dude. This is a sweet pad."

Hermione looks around the spacious living area. It is pretty nice, she's sure- though a little too modern for her tastes (a little to personalityless)- but she honestly doesn't spend enough time in the apartment for it to matter. To her, the space is still only living quarters- a place to sleep and maybe watch a little TV.

She shakes her shoes off, debating whether she should start thinking of it as a home- start decorating it, turning it into a place that was lived in. The concept hurts- the idea of calling the apartment home suggests a reluctance to return to their own universe. It says that they've discarded their old world; have accepted this new place as their own. It feels a lot like giving up, even though she knows logically she'd started thinking of the Tower as home months ago.

The fact that she doesn't even  _want_  to go back only makes her feel worse. She misses her friends and family fiercely, and the guilt of leaving them to the troubles of Magical Britain weighs on her mind and keeps up her at night frequently. But she can't help the reluctance that sits in the bottom of her gut at the thought of going back.

She shakes off the rising depression and forces on a smile for her house guest, "It's bigger than anywhere I've lived before." It's not a lie, at least. Although the inside of the tent she'd shared with Ron and Harry could possibly give it a run for its money (and Lord, but wouldn't  _that_  send Tony into an apoplectic fit).

Darcy sends her a look of commiseration, "I bet your bathroom is bigger than my bedroom."

Her lips twitch, "Quite possibly."

"Mhmm, now git. My bank account is not going to just empty itself on its own."

"Going."

When she comes out, dressed in the jeans she'd bought the last time she'd gone out with Natasha, and a baggy grey-blue sweater (far less ugly than Darcy's) slapped over what she'd already been wearing, she finds Darcy and Harry chatting in the kitchen. Or rather, Darcy chatting at Harry, whilst he makes himself a cup of tea. He only looks mildly confused by whatever she's talking about (she doesn't blame him; Darcy is a walking, talking pop-culture reference). They both turn towards her as she enters.

"Hey Hermione." Harry greets. She smiles warmly.

"Hey. Have fun?"

He shrugs. The last few days he'd been looking for an appropriate duelling ground for them, "Not as much as it looks like you're about to have."

Darcy grins, moving to take Hermione's arm not laden with a coat and handbag (a gift from Tony; one she'd quickly extended to replace the mess of her old beaded bag). "So much fun."

Hermione rolls her eyes; by this point she's not entirely sure Darcy is entirely sane, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah. Have fun; stay safe." He nods at the other woman, "Nice to meet you Darcy." Hermione blinks. She hadn't realised the pair hadn't met before.

"You too."

She turns back to Darcy when they leave the apartment, "I'm sorry. If I'd known you and Harry hadn't met I'd have introduced you earlier."

Darcy shrugs, "It was only a little surprise; I mean, I know you said you lived with Harry and Draco, but I thought you just meant on the same floor." She huffs, and then laughs, "God, but that kid is adorable, isn't he?"

Hermione can't help but laugh as they walk back into the lift, "Don't let him hear you say that."

"Hmm. But what's the story there? He like, your little brother or something? I'd say illegitimate love-child, but you're way too young."

She splutters, "I- God, no. He's my best friend. And he's a lot older than he looks. He's just got… good genes."

Darcy sighs wistfully, "Don't we all wish for good jeans."

"… I don't think you and I are thinking of the same kind of jeans."

True to the New York winters, it's freezing outside. She pulls her coat on a little tighter, "So, where are we going?" Despite herself, she'd rather looking forward to the outing. She wasn't always the biggest fan of shopping- not by herself, at any rate- but she enjoyed it in the company of friends.

Darcy smacks her lips, already dragging her into the throng of commuters filling the sidewalks, "Well, at first I was thinking, op shopping, but then I looked at my pay check and thought- what the hey, it's Christmas. So we're going to Macy's. And then- 'cause it's Christmas, we're going to Union Square. They've some fantastic markets there. I figure we can use that snazzy Time-Lordian bag of yours to stow all our stuff."

Hermione startles; stopping in her tracks. Darcy almost trips at her arrested momentum, "What?!"

The Scientist Herder gives her one of those funny little smiles, "Jane may not be an incorrigible gossip like Thor, but she just wouldn't  _shut up_  about that bag. Or, like, you in general. For like, a week. FYI; she wants one. Badly. Also she thinks you're broken. Like, physics wise; you're broken and you should feel bad."

Hermione grimaces; she's starting to think she should maybe start establishing some boundaries about these kinds of things. "I'm not sure you're supposed to know that."

"Hey, what's one more non-disclosure statement among friends? It's not like I'm not drowning in gag orders already."

She hums noncommittally, and allows Darcy to drag her along once again. She can only hope none of this will come back to stab them in the back later on.

* * *

Hermione ends up having quite a good time.

True to her prediction, the shops are filled to bursting with people, but the two of them still manage to find a few nice things. Shopping with Darcy, she finds, is a lot like shopping with Natasha (there is a great deal of bossing around going on), only with more snark and a far more lucid dialogue. She buys a few new clothes (on the card Tony had all but forced on her months ago) some sinfully soft sweater-dresses; a new pair of boots; a hat (at Darcy's insistence) and a lingerie ensemble- also on Darcy's insistence- that has her blushing furiously at the register when she pays for it (in stark contrast, the girl looks like she just wants to go home).

By the time they get to the markets in Union Square, night has well and truly fallen, and the markets are bathed in warm yellow lights. The candy-striped stalls are lined with holly, laced with fairly lights and the paths are filled with people inspecting wares and haggling prices and eating exotic foods that smell divine. All it needs are children zipping around on toy broomsticks and the pungent smell of potion stalls and she'd be right back in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley at Christmas. The thought hurts and she immerses herself in the sights and smells of the present to counter it.

She ends up buying a great deal- far more than Darcy does (then again, she'd spent most of hers at Macy's)- but she only feels slightly guilty about the amount of money she spends (after all, she was on the SI payroll). It's Christmas, at any rate and much of what she's buying is destined to be gifted to the collection of extraordinary people she's ended up with. The gifts comfort her, and when they finally leave the markets, her spirits are high and she feels more content than she has in a long time.

On the walk back, Darcy bemoans her aching feet. Hermione is unsympathetic.

"It was your idea to go shopping. Typically such ventures involve lots of walking."

"But I didn't think you'd want to spend so long at the markets!  _Jesus_ ; I think you spent more money there than at- scratch that, I know you spent more there than Macy's."

Hermione shrugs, "Markets are a weakness of mine. They remind me of home."

Darcy grows quiet and the walk in silence for a minute. Unsure of what she's done wrong, Hermione hitches her bag a little higher. Away from the markets, the darkened streets leave her a little nervous; even filled with people as they still are.

"You never talk about your home." Darcy says finally, "Thor says you're something like refugees."

Hermione huffs a laugh through her nose, "Yeah, that's a pretty good way of putting it. There's no going back."

Darcy clasps her hand in comfort. Her fingers and icy and ungloved. But Hermione squeezes them back all the same, "What was it like? Your world?"

She watches the New Yorkers hurry past, oblivious and uncaring, "Beautiful. Terrible. A world where anything was possible, and nothing was achieved."

Darcy scrunches her nose, "Sounds kind of crap."

She laughs softly and squeezes the other woman's hand a little tighter, "Yeah, a little. But it was pretty amazing too. More often than not they balanced themselves out… For a time, anyway."

"This world is pretty fucking fantastic too, you know."

She thinks of the Tower, filled with wonderful people; of Tony. Of Steve and Natasha and Thor and Bruce and Clint. Perfect, flawed people, all of them. All a part of the niche she and Harry are slowly but surely carving for themselves, "Yeah. It's not too shabby. Needs more dragons though."

Darcy laughs heartily and swings their hands widely, "Well obviously."

They walk past a narrow service road between two buildings- it's the kind of place that one expects to be mobbed in, to be honest. The city-dweller in her has her holding her handbag even tighter. A slip of colour catches her eye though, and she doubles back, pulling Darcy along by their conjoined hands.

"Hermione, what-"

She shushes her and lets go, drawing cautiously into the alley. The filth of it all reminds her of her first day- frightened and hurting. She wonders absently what had happened to the man that had helped her.  _There- again._  A swipe of orange amongst the dark. She smiles, crouching down to lower her profile and extending her hand to click and rub her fingers.

" _Puss, puss._ " She croons, and the flash of green reflects back in the light that seeps in from the main street. Darcy remains silent behind her, clued into it all now.

" _Puss, puss_." She says again, adding a lick of magic to it (Harry had been teaching her his new tricks; she's proud to say she was almost as proficient as he was at it already). She takes a small step forwards and the cat doesn't flinch or run away. As her eyes adjust to the dark, she sees the animal regard her curiously. It's young- still a kitten, but far past the stage of being small and helpless- and rake thin. The kind of thinness that spoke of abandonment and malnourishment. She suppresses her anger as she takes in the long, matted fur; some parts look like they would have to be cut off.

"Come here, Cat." She says softly, winding the magic into her words like a tapestry. The cat remains beside its upturned cardboard box a moment- still wary, but not afraid- before drawing forwards to sniff cautiously at her fingers. She smiles, "Hello Cat."

It's not like her old Crookshanks- it's ears are large, with an angular, rather smug-looking face. The dirty white bib beneath its chin almost looks like a beard, and his long, droopy whiskers only add to the effect. She chuckles as it rubs its head against her hand, "Aren't you handsome, hmm? Seems a shame for you to be left out here for Christmas. You have a home, Cat?"

He looks up at her, giving her an unimpressed glare. She runs a hand slowly over its matted back- no sign of a collar, and the box would imply he'd been dumped- she can see an old towel sitting inside the damp shelter. She sighs, "Guess not."

" _Mrrow_." The cat says in reply; a soft, nasally sound. He turns to rub his head against her hand again.

"Dude." Darcy remarks as he moves to brush against her kneeling legs, "Those are some serious cat wooing skills you have there."

She laughs softly, and runs her nails down his back. His skin ripples beneath her fingers, and she can hear the beginnings of a purr beneath the background noise of the street behind them. "Call it a latent talent."

The cat gives her an assessing stare, his topaz yellow eyes taking her in. " _Mrrt_." He says definitively, and she must pass muster, because he decides then to climb up her arm and settle contentedly on her shoulders- pocketed somewhat in the hood of her coat. His long, fluffy tail curls possessively around her neck. She tries not think about the fleas; she'll deal with it when they get back.

Darcy blinks at her, open mouthed and shocked, "I've legit never seen a cat actually do that before." She breathes, "Dayum girl."

Hermione is inclined to agree with her. Maybe her magic had been more potent than she'd realised.

"You gonna take it back to the Tower?  _Please_  say yes; Tony would absolutely  _freak!_  Oh my God please let me be there to see it." Hermione laughs; Darcy's humour had a wicked streak to it that she could help but love (her cousin's children would have called her a troll, she's sure).

"How can I say no?"

Her companion grins, "What are you going to call it? If you say Ginger, I'm disowning you."

She snickers, "Do I look that unoriginal? No I…" She trails off, turning her head to regard the cat. He kneads his paws in her coat and rubs his face affectionately against her fingers when she brings her hand up for him. His rumbling purr reverberates through her neck; it's a comforting sensation, "What should I name you?" She asks softly. He doesn't reply.

Crookshanks felt too clichéd and nostalgic for her; and beyond that, he was already shaping up to be completely different from her first pet. For the life of her though, she couldn't think of anything to call him.

"I always thought Tobermory was a fabulous name for a cat." Darcy says, sidling closer to scratch at his head. He allows the contact, closing his eyes as she finds his sweet spot at the edge of his chin. His purring grows stronger.

"Tobermory?"

"Yeah; I saw this animated film a while back… can't remember what it was called, but it had a cat called Tobermory."

Hermione thinks on it. She does like the name; it's unusual enough for a cat, she thinks, "Tobermory." The cat's eyes slide over to her. He blinks at her slowly. She grins, "Yeah, alright."

"Great!" Darcy sighs in relief, "'Cause I'm fucking exhausted."

"Eager to get home, are we?" Hermione teases as they walk out of the alley. Most of the pedestrians barely spare them a second glance, and she's grateful when Tobermory is unphased by the sudden influx of people or the rolling gait of her shoulders as she walks. She keeps her shoulders as steady as possible anyway.

"You have no idea. I think my feet are legit about to fall off. Now c'mon, Cat Whisperer; let's go freak the fuck out of Tony. And afterwards, I'm crashing at yours."

Hermione laughs, "Please, by all means." She allows herself to be led down into the subway station again.

It feels very much like going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes... Once upon a time, I had an aversion to Darcy Lewis. To me, she always seemed like one of those characters that was completely open to abuse by fanfic writers, because her character itself is so underdeveloped in Thor. Hence, I often thought/feared that she'd be turned into the dreaded Mary Sue/ author self insert. Which, to be fair, she is sometimes still made. But One Day, I succumbed, and blessedly discovered that there are a good number of excellent fics out there about her... and I may or may not have fallen in love with her. So, this is my contribution to the Fandom Bicycle.
> 
> Also. Cat. I like cats; Fun Fact. When I went to the pound and got my latest addition to the Cinna household, I legitimately had a cat do this. It was awesome. And for those that were wondering; Tobermory is the cat from the animated film Nocturna. Which is a fucking beautiful movie that you should all watch. Just sayin.
> 
> Also, why does Puss have to have two different meanings and be pronounced differently? It's really annoying. 
> 
> Anyways, I go back to uni tomorrow, so I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully it will be within the next month. Until then, I'll see ya'll later :)
> 
> Cinna


	5. There is Promise of a Better One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author pulls her head out of her arse and finally posts something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow....  
> I seriously did not mean for it to go so long since the last update. I'm a little ashamed of how much time got away from me, and I sincerely apologise for making you all wait so long. Please rest assured that this story HAS NOT been abandoned. 2015 has been a remarkably busy- if not difficult year- for me so far, and though I haven't stopped writing at all during this time (for those who are interested, check out my Vampire Avengers AU I've got posted up on here; Darcy-centric), I am ashamed to admit that From the Head Down has fallen to the wayside in the face of other, fresher ideas.   
> With that said, I am on the band wagon again, I swear, and I am very excited to continue developing my story, and taking it to places that hopefully haven't been explored before.

**Part Three:** In Which

**Chapter Five:** There is Promise of a Better One

“ _Toneee!_ ” Darcy cries the moment they walk out of the lift, “Tony, I brought your girlfriend back! I didn’t even have to Taser anyone one! Aren’t you proud? You should be proud.”

There’s the sound of a fleshy _thunk_ and a pained curse. Hermione hides her snicker behind a hand.

“Lewis? I thought I told you to knock from now on!” Comes the distant reply. His lab was very large- it almost took up the entire flood- excluding a small kitchenette and bathroom.

“I thought that was just a joke.” Darcy replies. Her tone of voice implies that she thought nothing of the sort, “We brought you a present.” Her eyes slide over to Hermione- they share a wicked smile. Tobermory is a warm weight against her neck. She’d received a number of perplexed looks on the subway- so much so that she’d been tempted to cast a notice-me-not charm on herself- that was, until a little girl in a pink bauble hat had asked- quite adorably- if she could ‘pet the kitty’. She’d been happy to allow the not-so-subtle photographs from her fellow commuters after that.

“Hi Tony.” She says when he emerges from around a piece of machinery. His face breaks into a relieved smile and she revels in the sight of it for a moment.

“Queenie! Enjoy your night out on the town?” He moves towards her, the intention to touch clear on his face.

Right up to the point, that is, where he notices her companion. He draws up short- almost tripping with how quickly he halts. To her left, Darcy snorts at the look of confusion that rapidly morphs into abject horror on his face.

“Is that- is that a _cat?_ ” He sounds almost appalled at the thought of an animal in his lab.

“No.” Hermione delivers, deadpan, “This is the homeless man that tried to rob Darcy and I on the way home. I turned him into a cat. Mostly to remind you that I can do it.”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes silently. Hermione only worries that she’s broken him for a second.

“It’s true.” Darcy supplies. It’s clear that subterfuge is not her forte

“I don’t know what’s worse.” Tony splutters, “The fact that I almost believe you, or the fact that you brought a _stray cat_ into my Tower.”

Darcy bursts into laughter- a hysterical, throaty sound that devolves into gasping wheezes as she wipes away tears of mirth. Hermione only _just_ manages to restrain herself from doing the same. Tony looks like he’s about to throw something at the other woman.

Tobermory- disturbed by the sudden noise- takes the opportunity to shift on her shoulders, standing and stretching gracefully. Tony’s eyes track his every movement suspiciously, “ _Mrrow_.” The cat offers in greeting. Tony blinks and scowls. Darcy laughs some more.

“Did you seriously just pick a stray up off the streets?”

Hermione smirks, “Well, technically there was no picking up involved at all. He climbed.”

“So you what- just magically gained yourself a cat?” He stops; thinks about what he’s just said, “Actually, scratch that. When it’s put like that it doesn’t sound nearly ridiculous enough.”

She raises a brow imperiously, “Any self-respecting witch is in need of a good familiar.”

Tony waves desperately in the direction of her new companion, “You brought a stray cat into the Tower! _My_ Tower! _God_ , it’s probably got rabies- has it bitten you? Please tell me it hasn’t bitten you. Oh fuck and I bet it’s fucking _covered in fleas!_ ”

“Oh, most certainly.” She replies coolly. Darcy bursts into another fit of laughter at the appalled look that returns to Tony’s face.

“ _No-_ no. Absolutely not. Out- get it _out!_ I’m not having some mangy, flea-ridden creature running amok in my Tower!”

Her lips twitch. Bless his poor, daft soul but she finds his freak out more endearing than anything. But she stands her ground, “I don’t remember there being a no pets policy.”

“I don’t- I didn’t- but no- no _way_ is that thing staying here. Nope nope no. I’ll get you a new cat. A better cat! One that won’t give you rabies!”

“I’m keeping him.”

Tony pouts.

As if sensing Tony’s discomfort, the ‘Thing’ in question jumps down from Hermione’s shoulder to investigate the genius, as all felines are wont to do in the presence of a cat hater (or heavens forbid; a _dog person_ ). He stands frozen as the cat draws closer, and looks pained when Tobermory rubs up against his pant leg in (spiteful) approval.

“ _Hermione._ ”

“Tony.”

“It’s _touching_ me!”

She doesn’t try very hard to hide her grin at the sight of ginger hair left on his dark-wash jeans, “So he is, dear.”

“I take it back. You can keep it- do whatever you want with it- just keep it out of my lab!”

Tobermory plants himself at Tony’s feet. There’s a curious look about his face, as though seriously contemplating the benefits of climbing up the billionaire/inventor. Tony makes a sound very much like what Hermione imagines a dying giraffe would make. Beside her, Darcy wheezes.

“No.” Tony says very deliberately to the cat, “If you so much as think about whatever you’re thinking of doing, I swear to God I’ll throw you out a window, Cat. And I’d have to _find_ a window that opens first- that would take a lot of effort.”

Tobermory yawns.

She takes pity on the man, stooping down to retrieve her familiar, “Thank-you Tony.”

He makes that funny noise again, and takes a step back, “Whatever. Just get it out of here.”

She pats his cheek with her free hand and he flinches, “You’re a terrible drama queen.”

“And you’re a terrible girlfriend. Now get out. I think I need to fumigate this place.”

She laughs and leads Darcy out, blowing him a kiss as she does. Tony- the dag- pretends to wipe it off his cheek in disgust.

“Don’t come back here ‘til you’ve doused yourself in disinfectant!” He shouts after them, his voice rapidly devolving into deranged mutterings as his summons his robots to clean up the ‘mess’ her cat had left behind.

“You know,” Darcy remarks once they’re inside the lift. Hermione had invited her to stay the night in her apartment, “Sometimes I forget how weirdly uptight Tony is.”

“Mmm.” Hermione replies, scratching at Tobermory’s chin. His purring vibrates along her arm soothingly, “Bless his soul, but I don’t think animals are a love of his.”

Darcy shakes he head and wipes at the corner of her eyes. Her fingers come away dark with ruined eye-liner and mascara, “Oh, fuck no.”

Her lips twitch, “It’s a shame though.” She remarks as though conversing about the weather, “I was rather hoping for a deal more screaming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on the next chapter now, it'll be up in the next few days!


	6. Steve tries to watch Dr Who

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a couple days.... yeah I'm a lying liar who lies. Sorry about that, I got distraction by various things. But new chapter! And working on the next one even now :)  
> To the Americans out there, enjoy your Independence Day!

“What’s with little toes?” Are the first words out of Harry’s mouth when he sits beside Steve at the kitchen bench with an oversized mug of tea- the one that says ‘ _I’ve got a honky tonk badonkadonk_ ’ that had been a gag present from Darcy.

Steve- still not entirely used to some of his housemate’s(?) random thought processes- snorts into his coffee, “ _What?_ ”

“Well, they’re so pointless. Why do they even bother growing?”

He looks down at his bare feet self-consciously, “I don’t think they’re pointless.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “They are! And toenails! On little toes! They’re just so stupid- I don’t get it; some of them look like they’ve already given up on life anyway- why don’t they just fall off?”

He shrugs at the pondering wizard. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked deep, ‘philosophical’ questions like these out of the blue, and likely wouldn’t be the last either, “Evolution is weird, I guess.”

“You’re bloody right about that. And underarm hair! Don’t you think it’s a waste of resources? Like, couldn’t our bodies have spent the energy growing pointless hair somewhere else? What’s its purpose- and don’t you say anything Bruce Banner-” he waves a hand threateningly at the scientist that had just appeared. Steve shrugs helplessly at the other man, “I want an honest, ignorant answer from the Captain of Patriotism and the American way.”

“Is this for a Vine?” Clint asks from the coffee percolator Tony had bought especially for him when he discovered the archer preferred cheap and nasty coffee. He hadn’t wanted ‘that nasty shit contaminating the _good_ stuff, you filthy pleb’.

Harry and Steve frown in confusion, “What’s a Vine?” they ask in unison.

Clint shakes his head, and has the look of someone forced to explain algebra to a third grader, “It’s like… oh I don’t know; _Jarvis_?”

“According to Urban Dictionary, Vines are short videos, usually 5 to 10 seconds long of compiled clips. They are frequently posted on social websites for their comedic value.”

Harry blinks slowly over the rim of his tea mug. A wicked smile creeps across his face, which pretty much sets the tone for the rest of Steve’s day.

* * *

Steve’s been watching Harry flit through the sky of Manhattan for the last thirty minutes.

He’s only partly watching, really. Harry moves too fast through the air for him to catch anything more than a passing glimpse of the man; fragmented visons of the wizard stretched out over his broom, a look of wicked joy upon his too-young face. He wonders how he’s keeping warm up there; early January isn’t known for its balmy temperatures. Today is hardly the exception- though the sky is a clear, uninterrupted blue and the sun on his face is a peaceful warmth, there’s a biting wind that cuts through clothing like a hot knife through butter (though perhaps in this case the simile worked the other way ‘round). He doesn’t want to think about how cold it must be zooming through it at a million miles an hour.

He shivers at the thought.

It’s taken Steve some time, but he’s learnt gradually that he’s not as bothered by the cold as people think he must be. That first winter- the first cold season he’d faced in this brave new world- people seemed to think that he’d freak out, as though the seventy years of being unconsciously trapped in a block of ice had somehow transferred to his inactive mind (as though _that_ would bother him more than the thought of all the people he had lost). It hadn’t, but with so many people wondering if he was okay- if he was warm enough, and did he want another coat?- he’d almost started thinking that he must not have been.

The season had not been a good one- the ill-placed concerns left him off-balance and unsure in a world he already wasn’t entirely sure about. Maybe he _wasn’t_ okay (he still isn’t), maybe the cold _was_ having an effect on him. He’d started having nightmares; landing the plane in the water, the water surrounding him in an embrace so cold it burnt then felt like nothing at all, turning to ice before he could move and filling his lungs- his veins- with blue and sinking down into the depths of a bottomless ocean.

Then spring came- and summer. People stopped caring. He started seeing a shrink- it helped- and the discomfort he’d felt the previous winter didn’t return with the browning of the leaves and the fall in temperature. He still had nightmares- not always, but often enough- but now they were of being stuck, and trapped. The sense of helplessness- of hopelessness- he’d felt in the last week of the war was what haunted him now. It was that sensation that left his skin crawling- not the cold.

He enjoyed it now. It didn’t affect him as much as it used to, for one- Lord knows he ran hotter than he used to. It was nice to enjoy the cool, crisp air, without fearing that this winter would be his last. He spends a lot of his time out here in the winter- sketching the skyline, coming to terms with the way the world looked in the new millennium. He must have drawn the sleek lines of the Chrysler building (a reminder of the old) a million times over now, but he’s yet to grow tired of it.

On a whim, he scribbles in the fleeting image of Harry; a small speck in the sky- like a bird with one too many limbs before he moves onto sharpening the lines of another building. Harry lands not long after, a broad grin stretched across his face. His hair is even more of a disaster than usual.

“Have fun?”

“The best.” Harry moves forwards, peering down at the half-completed sketch. He smiles, “You’ve got talent. Should sell them- people would pay a pretty penny to stick an artwork by Captain America on their wall.”

Steve grimaces as the other man throws himself onto an adjacent chair. He twitches his wrist and the gas heater between them ignites, “I thought about it- I could make a lot of money for charity… but people would be buying art for art’s sake, you know? They wouldn’t be buying it because it was good, or beautiful. They’d just want to stick a piece of the Captain on their walls.

“It doesn’t sit right- I was a dancing monkey for a long time. It’s not something I want to do again.”

Harry leans back to stare at the sky. He chews on his lip for a moment, “When the war ended, I was offered a contract with Puddlemere United- they’re a pretty big quidditch team. I was pretty good in school, but I hadn’t played in over a year. It was pretty clear to me that they weren’t asking because of any talent I may have had. All they wanted was the Boy-Who-Lived, and all of the notoriety that came with it. So I get it. Really.”

Steve watches Harry watching the sky, “What was it like? Growing up with that?”

Harry snorts softly, “Pretty screwed up. Looking back on it now, it was bloody awful- everything I did was scrutinized, and I seemed to switch from being a saviour figure to point of ridicule in the blink of an eye. There was never any easy ground for me… but for all that, it was still the best thing to ever happen to me. If I’d have stayed with the Dursley’s any longer than I had to…” he makes a face and clutches at his elbows, “Eventually I’d have started believing everything they called me. I’d probably be dead or stuck in prison; ending up displaced in an alternate reality is the lesser of two evils, really.”

Steve smiles, but there’s a tugging in his chest that feels a lot like loss, “I’d probably have died the first winter Bucky left for the war.”

Harry rolls his head to regard him, and Steve doesn’t bother to pretend he’d drawing, “He was your mate, right? The one that fell.”

He swallows back the sudden onslaught of emotion that comes with memories of the train (even now, they hurt, but at least they were not accompanied by the rawness of losing _everything_ ). “Yeah,” he grits out, “he was.”

Harry frowns- a faint creasing of his forehead and the narrowing of his bottle green eyes, “Sorry. That was insensitive, wasn’t it?”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs, staring down at his cityscape as though he could escape through there, “It’s been almost three years now.”

Harry breathes heavily through his nose and they both stare out at the city below, “We’re both kind of stranded here, aren’t we.”

He smiles sardonically, “It could be worse.”

The wizard gives another breathy sigh, “It could.” He’s silent a long moment, before slapping his hands on his thighs, dragging them down the denim as he collects his emotions, “I think that’s enough deep and meaningful conversation for this time of the morning.”

Steve snorts and glances pointedly down at his watch, “It’s barely eleven.”

“My point exactly. _Ugh_.” He pulls a face of mock disgust, “I think I need a cup of tea the size of a bucket now.”

Steve is opening his mouth to say something else as they stand when he hears the high-pitched whine of the thrusters of Tony’s suit. They blink in surprise as Tony lands on the balcony. Steve hadn’t even been aware he’d been out- certainly not in his armour. They stand around awkwardly as his armour is pulled off him in a whir of machinery and engineering.

“Tony.” He greets the older man cautiously.

Tony gives them a tired look, “Hey.” He says amongst the background noise of his suit packing away.

“Where you been?”

Tony glares at him half-heartedly, but Steve stands his ground. He doesn’t care if he’s falling into the nagging stereotype Tony’s slotted him into; as a friend and colleague he had a duty to know of his safety, and where needed to offer his help.

Tony sighs and scratches at the back of his head, “Jarvis found a remnant warehouse full of old Hammer weapons that had been lined up to be sold off to extremist groups in the Middle East.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in surprise, though honestly it should be that shocking, really (he may not have been around when the whole thing happened, but he’d heard enough about it). Hammer Industries may be a dead company, but it had been producing weapons for long enough to have more than a few stockpiles left over.

“Is that the last one?”

Stark shrugs and moves past them into the indoors and the kitchen. Steve and Harry follow him, “Hopefully. They managed to wipe all their servers before I could get to it, but I’m hoping J can at least find something.”

He takes in the tired lines of Tony’s face, and the troubled way he plays with a pen lying on the kitchen bar (probably one of Bruce’s), twirling it through his fingers like he wants to be buried in his lab tearing something apart and building it up from scratch. It’s what Howard would have done.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks carefully.

Tony rolls his eyes- hard. “It’s fine. It’s just- it’s been four years- more or less. Hammer’s been locked up for four years and I should have known better than to think I’d managed to sweep it all away. I guess I should be glad it’s not Stark tech.”

Harry shifts beside him and Steve decides it’s best not to push any further right now- not whilst Tony’s still so keyed up. Steve’s found his way slowly and carefully into this new world, but he knows his teammates and he knows his friends.

“If you need any help, you know we’re here, right?”

Tony grimaces and disappears under the bench to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. Steve pushes down his disapproval, “I know that.”

“Do you? Whatever this ends up being, it doesn’t have to be another disaster like Thor and Greenwich.”

Tony steps on his way to the elevator and Steve tries his hardest not to think about how ridiculous the billionaire looks in his undersuit and a bottle of hooch in hand, “I know that, Cap.”

“We’re a team, Tony. And I’ll kick your ass if you get yourself killed.”

Stark waves his bottle as he steps into the elevator, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The doors close and Harry breathes out heavily, “Hermione mentioned something about Tony and Hammer about two weeks ago. Said he’d gone off to bust a weapon’s stash- came back in a foul mood.”

Steve hums, eyeing the closed metal doors, “So that’s not the first time.”

“At least it’s only the second? Probably?”

He huffs, “I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. Jarvis, is Hermione in?”

A momentary pause, “Yes, Captain Rogers. She is in her laboratory. Would you care to speak with her?”

He shakes his head, forgetting (once again) that Jarvis is just an AI, “Can you send her to Tony? When she’s able.”

“Message received, Captain. She will meet with him shortly.”

Beside him, Harry snorts and shoves him jovially in the shoulder (Steve lets himself be moved by the smaller man. He’s pretty sure Harry knows he lets him do it), “You sly devil. Don’t think I don’t know what you did right there.”

He sends the Brit a guileless look of innocence, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The wizard rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “So I didn’t just witness Captain America sending my best friend into Stark’s lab in an attempt at distracting him from the bottle? Most likely with her body, I might add.”

He fights to maintain the look, “Now why on Earth would you think that? Captain America is a paragon of virtue. He would never do something so underhanded.”

(It’s a dirty, stinking lie. Steve is _not_ above playing sneaky to stop Tony from ending up blind drunk. God knows his liver needed the break)

Harry looks like he’s thinking exactly the same thing. Steve clears his throat, inching over to the kitchen (he’s hungry; again). Harry laughs and rolls his eyes again, “Yeah alright, Mister Bottomless-Pit. I could have sworn you ate just an hour ago.”

“I’m a growing boy?”

“You can only use that excuse so many times until it gets old, Rogers.”

He shrugs and rummages through the fridge to hide his grin, “I’ve a fast metabolism thanks to an experimental procedure I probably should have thought harder about?”

(Another lie. If he’d been asked to undergo the serum again, he’d have signed up without a thought a million times over)

Harry snorts as he pulls out a bread knife and a cutting board, “A-bloody-men to that. Now hand me that jar; I wanna drown my sorrows in pickles.”

* * *

“So Hermione and I were thinking of doing some duelling tomorrow.” Harry says at dinner one night, sometime in early January. Most of them are there- though Hermione and Tony are conspicuously absent, and Malfoy’s been away the last three days (‘bumming around in New Zealand’, according to Harry).

He tilts his head, grinning, “Yeah? You found a place then?”

Harry nods, “About a week back. Hermione and I have checked it out- it suits our needs.”

“Where?” Natasha asks, in that quiet purring way of hers.

“Canada.”

To his left, Bruce chokes on his rice, “Canada?” He rasps when he gets his food down, “Christ, it must be ten degrees there!”

Harry shrugs, “It’s isolated and uninhabited. I thought it was ideal- and the cold meant less wildlife to disturb.”

Steve hums and shovels a forkful of paella into his mouth. It’s buttery and spiced just right. He’s had the need to fight itching under his skin for weeks now- it’s been over a month since SHIELD last had need for him and the down time has left him restless, “Can we join?”

Harry grins at him wickedly, “I was planning on it.”

Steve swallows; he gets the distinct impression that tomorrow is going to be both very enlightening, and very painful.

* * *

Steve wakes from the clutches of a nightmare with sweat on his brow and blankets twisted around his legs.

He sighs into the cool night air, irritation and aching nostalgia washing over him in equal measure as his heartrate calms and the adrenalin ebbs. He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep- though the digital clock on his bedside table reads three fifty-eight. Nights like these leave him keyed-up and restless, and the thought of lying still and submitting himself to the _ache_ the dream brought on in an attempt to fall back to sleep makes him feel almost nauseous. He rolls out of bed, changing into sweatpants and his favourite workout shirt and makes his way down to the gym on the 88 th floor. Jarvis lights the way for him- soft illumination of the empty halls and elevator- but says nothing. Nights like these happen enough for him to know the drill.

He contents himself for several hours on a souped-up treadmill, and the steady pounding of his feet washes away his thoughts and memories, leaving him in a blank kind of sub-space that he only exits when the churning of his empty stomach becomes too insistent to ignore anymore. He leaves the gym feeling lighter, his legs _almost_ shaky, like they still think they should be running.  

Bruce is already in the living area, absently shovelling spoonfuls of muesli into his mouth as he reads something with lots of numbers and graphs on it on a StarkTab. It’s still dark, outside the floor to ceiling windows.

“Morning.” He greets, moving to the breakfast fridge to pull out five eggs, half a dozen sausages and several rashers of bacon. Bruch watches him gather his unholy amount of food with that funny sort of academic appreciation he gets with a lot of people in the tower. Like Jarvis he doesn’t comment, even though Steve’s up an hour earlier than he usually is and is assembling enough protein to feed a family for his breakfast. He’s seen it happen enough times to know what it means. They all do, he’s sure.

“Morning.” He echoes, and eyes the sausages Steve throws in the pan with something akin to envy. Steve pulls another two from the fridge and Bruce smiles self-depreciatingly.

“Thanks… Are you looking forward to today?”

“Yeah.” He looks up, “You comin’ along?”

Bruce makes a moue of distaste, “It’s mid-winter, and Canada’s not really known for its balmy temperatures.”

“The Hulk doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold.”

The look on Bruce’s face grows even more pronounced- even now, he’s still not entirely bringing the Hulk out to play, “That is true.” He hedges, and subsequently buries himself in his cup of cold coffee.

Natasha turns up next- like clockwork at 0615. She says nothing about his large breakfast (no one ever does); only making her traditional Tuesday blueberry porridge. Harry and Hermione wander in sometime after seven- Steve’s already finished his breakfast by then, and is content to pass the time watching Dr Who on Netflix (he blames Harry and Darcy for that one).

Harry joins him on the couch, balancing toast slathered with an ungodly amount of jam on his knees, “Hey.”

He smiles, in part amused by the jam, and his tousled, fluffy hair that looks like he lost a fight with a hairdryer, “Morning.”

“Looking forward to today?”

He grins at the Doctor on screen- in the middle of ignoring Martha’s transparent attempts at flirting, “You bet.”  He’s never seen Harry or Hermione fight- not in the whole four months he’s known them. Most of the reasoning for that of course has been the involvement of SHIELD- in part because of their wariness of the organisation, as well as the bargain Hermione had drawn up with them. But with their probation well and truly over, he’s surprised they haven’t gone out earlier. 

Harry chuckles through a mouthful of toast, “Looking forward to wiping the floor with you lot.”

Steve raises a brow and crosses his arms, giving the wizard the side-eye- he just catches his eyes on his shoulders before they flick back up to meet his, “Is that how it is, then?”

“Yup. That’s exactly how it is,” Harry takes another bite of his jam-with-toast, all unconvincing wide-eyed innocence.

“Six against two- that ain’t great odds.”

Harry shrugs, “We’ve had worse. And I think you’re forgetting one vital thing here.”

“Oh? Can’t think of what that’d be.”

“We have magic, you berk.”

“That’s true. But we fought Loki and came out on top.”

Harry’s face darkens minutely, and he takes another bite of jam and toast to hide the reaction, “I don’t know mate, from what I hear, he didn’t exactly put up much of a fight.” Steve holds his tongue, because for all they really know, he had been. For the most part Loki had relied on others to do his dirty work, “Kind of convinced that he _wanted_ to fail, to be honest. ‘Cause that guy… he is literally _thousands_ of years old. He has more tricks up his sleeve than a- than an old lady in a liquor store.”

“I- _what?_ ”

“He has a lot of tricks up his sleeve-”

“ _What does an old lady in a liquor store have to do with anything?_ ”

“We’re getting off topic here. What I’m saying is, he’s been studying magic for a _millennia_ longer than out combined lifespans. You really think if he actually tried, he wouldn’t have provided more of a challenge to you guys?”  

Steve shifts in his seat, looking down at the cup of joe in his hands, “I can’t deny he’d have been more of a challenge if that _is_ the case, but” he lowers his voice and leans closer, “that doesn’t change the fact that Loki is insane. Even in our green state back then, he’d have slipped up, and we- or whoever else woulda stepped up to the plate- would’ve found a way to beat him.”

Harry grimaces and brushes the crumbs off his legs, “Oh, he’s nuts alright. But I kind of got the sense that he’s playing for a bigger game than any of us could hope to understand.” A shadow crosses his face and his right hand clenches, “What his endgame is, is beyond me; can only hope it won’t go call for a sacrificial lamb.”

Steve gets the very real sense Harry’s talking from experience there. He watches in detached interest as Shakespeare’s Globe is consumed by a swirling whirlpool of mist. He’ll have to re-watch this episode.

“Harry! What are you doing talking to the enemy!” Hermione exclaims. Harry twists around in his seat to look up at her.

“He’s not the enemy yet, Hermione.”

The corner of her lip twitches, “Even so. I was hoping we could speak strategy before we go.” Harry nods and stands, moving to stand beside her.

Steve puts on a face of mock outrage as they turn to leave, “Hey now, that’s cheating!”

Harry sends him a rude gesture, “Piss off, Rogers. If you had any sense you lot’d be doing the same. ‘Mione and I don’t mess around with amateurs.”

Steve laughs at the pair’s retreating backs. At the sink, Natasha has an uncanny gleam in her eyes at the thought, “We’ll see how good you are by the end of the day, Potter.”

“Whatevs man. Be ready in ten.”

The elevator doors close and suddenly Natasha is standing in front of him, face all but inscrutable but for the eager gleam she allows into her eyes (it’s as close to glee as he’s ever seen her).

“Strategy, Cap?”

He breathes out heavily and pauses Netflix.

Definitely going to have to re-watch the episode later.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Optional arguement between Steve and Harry:  
> “Okay, but I have a Hermione.”
> 
> “… We have a Natasha?”


	7. FIGHT ME BRO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER
> 
> THIS
> 
> FUCKING CHAPTER
> 
> This is why it took me so long to fucking update.
> 
> Fucking. Action Scenes.
> 
> I hate them. Absolutely hate them; I don't know what it is, but action scenes and writing just don't work together for me. So this chapter has been hand written, hand written again, put aside for literally months, then typed, abandoned for a few more months until I finally pulled my head out of my arse and finished it. But. It. Is. Done. Sorry if it sucks, you'll have to just deal and be happy with the rest of the crap I produce. But here it is, in all of its glory. So enjoy.
> 
> Thank-you to everyone who left a review! You people are awesome!

 

 

It's not the first time Harry and Hermione have been here.

Even if Steve didn't know that already, there's plenty of evidence around the place to suggest that it's been used for something remarkably destructive in the last week or so, with half destroyed trees, disrupted earth and a multitude of burn marks all over the place. The level of damage is actually pretty impressive, and the pyromaniac inside Steve cackles softly at the destruction.

Natasha raises an eyebrow in curiosity at the devastation, kicking at a divot of earth just in front of her feet. She looks at home in the freezing temperature, "Nice to see you guys clean up after yourselves," she remarks dryly. Steve huffs a laugh.

Harry grins, "There's not much lasting damage. These trees are fast growing, and Hermione's been able to speed up the regrowth. Give this place six weeks and you wouldn't even know we were here."

Natasha hums, eyes sliding off the wizard to eye a patch of black on the tree behind him. She doesn't remark further.

"So how're we gonna do this?" Tony asks. His nose has turned red in the cold, though the rest of him is insulated by his suit. Out of all of them, Bruce is probably the worst off; he'd dressed warm but light, in preparation of him 'suiting up'. Even Clint's rugged up… in as much as a luridly purple scarf peeping out from beneath the collar of his sleeveless tac gear can be considered rugged up.

"I was thinking a capture the flag scenario to start off? No jail, ten minutes prep, the enemy's flag has to be brought back to base to win. Flags can be recaptured, but they can only be set up where they've been recaptured."

"Good way of getting to know the enemy," Natasha notes in approval, eyes tracing the scenery for places of advantage, "in a matter of speaking. Are you two on the offence, or defence?"

"I was thinking we both had flags, actually," Hermione replies. Her breathe blows out plumes of mist and Steve's mind is filled with images of a dragon, "We want to see how well you work as a team against us."

The brow rises again, "Ambitious."

Hermione draws out her wand and conjures a red flag with the image of a lion embroidered across it in gold from a broken tree branch. It stands out like a beacon in the mass of white, green and brown. She hands it to a grinning Harry who sets it over his shoulder, and conjures another one, this time in yellow and blue. Harry bursts out into laughter at the sight of the badger. She hands it over to Steve, her lips twitching with suppressed mirth. Steve knows an inside joke when he sees one.

"Guard this with your life," she tells him with a seriousness that does not translate as well as he's sure she hopes. The pole of wood is smooth in his hands, and the fabric when he touches it feels like silk, catching on the toughened skin of his fingers. Hermione turns back to the others, "For the first turn, we'll both have wands, but Harry's agreed to use it minimally. He's still not that sophisticated with his spellwork, but he's getting better."

Tony snorts in derision, "A handicap. Really? Do you think that little of us Queenie? Six on two kind of puts this in our favour, you know that right?"

She sends him a smile that promises pain and retribution, "Tony, need I remind you that our magic has the ability to short out your suit? Not to mention your comms. I think we can handle it just fine."

Tony wisely shuts up.

"Ground rules?" Steve asks as Natasha and Clint check over their weapons. They're all armed with low dosage sleeper bullets- or ICERs- designed to slow down or knockout targets, depending on the dosage. According to Hill, they're the new favourite in SHIELD training sessions.

"No kill shots. We're still regular humans, and even if we can block a great deal of things, we can still break," Harry states, "Hermione and I have agreed not to use apparition. Otherwise, do whatever you need to do to win. This is as much about testing our abilities as it is yours."

Bruce frowns at the mention of kill shots, "Is this safe?"

"Sure," Harry replies with the kind of blasé answer that says that it probably isn't. The gold tassels on his flag just miss the ground, "We're gonna go find ourselves a place to make base now. There's a creek about two hundred meters that way-" he points in a vague easterly direction, "we'll make that our boundary line…" He clicks his fingers, as though suddenly remembering something, "Did you guys want a time limit?"

Steve takes in the frozen scene around them. Half of them were largely unaffected by the cold, but he pondered the invulnerability of the rest- particularly Clint, Natasha and Bruce (when not Hulked out). The reality was though, that he couldn't see this round lasting terribly long with one two against six, "We'll see, I guess."

Harry grins, "Cool. See you suckers in a bit then!"

And with that, Hermione is grabbing the wizard's arm and apparating them away with a soft  _crack_.

They're silent for a long moment, staring at the space the magic users had occupied. Clint shifts, eyes flicking up to the canopy, "Strategy?"

Steve shakes himself out and leans the flagpole against his shoulder, "Right," he motions up to the trees, "Tony, can you find us a hill or something? Something easily defensible, preferably with some open space, a decent distance from that creek."

"On it," Tony's faceplate comes down and he's off.

Steve turns to the rest of the team, "We're going to need a defense and offense; Clint, you and I will stay with the flag- I want you up high; shoot anything that moves, but keep out of sight and stay on the move. Nat and Thor; you're on offense. We  _need_  their flag. Get to the creek and then wait for the signal. Bruce, if they need help, you're up- let's see how well that hide of yours works against spellcasters. Tony, I want you on recon; once the alarm goes off, find their base and keep an eye one them-  _especially_  Harry. Chances are he's on capture duty. With that broom of his, he's fast and manoeuvrable. Stick to the canopy though; I'd rather not see what happens when your suit and magic interact. If you see an opening though- especially with Thor and Nat working on Hermione, I want you to take it. Are you able to do that?"

Through the comms, Tony snorts in derision, " _Please Cap, she may be my girlfriend but I'm not afraid to whoop her ass if the time asks for it._ "

Bruce snickers, "It's your funeral, Tony."

"Let's move," Steve says quickly, before the two of them can start bickering, "see if we can't wipe the floor with them."

Natasha and Thor move out; Natasha slinking away into the wilds like she belongs there, and Thor moves with surprising deftness for a man his size (Steve belatedly remember his countless tales of hunting on Asgard and other realms- he surely has plenty of experience moving silently through forested areas).

Tony re-joins them, motioning to the north of them, "There's a good spot about three hundred yards in that direction. Raised vantage, large rocks, only a few trees around the place. Easily defendable and Katniss has any choice of trees to set up shop in."

Steve rolls his eyes, but nods in thanks anyway, "Sounds good. Mind leading the way?"

"Sure thing," Tony launches himself off the ground, and Steve, Bruce and Clint follow at a steady jog.

Steve is largely satisfied with the place Tony's picked out; it's not the best, but it'll do in a pinch, with an expanse of bare ground turned blinding white in the snow, interrupted by ice-slick rocks and ringed in forest. The terrain is likely to prove a hindrance to both parties, but he's confident his enhanced abilities will leave him on top. He climbs carefully to the top of the slight rise and Clint disappears into the forest. Bruce joins him not long after, his breath making large billows of mist in the freezing air. He looks dubiously around them.

"This the best we've got?" he sits down gingerly on a rock as Steve wedges the flagpole between two rocks. The blue and yellow stands out like a sore thumb, but he supposes that's the point. And it wasn't like he was dressed for camouflage, in the new navy stealth suit SHIELD had made for him (he preferred it over the traditional red and blue, but he wasn't going to admit that to SHIELD).

"It'll do," he grunts, "at least we have three times the manpower they do. Harry and Hermione are stuck with one for defence and one for retrieval. Against six non-powered people, I don't doubt they'd give us trouble… but against the Avengers?" he gives the scientist a wry smile, "We'll see, I suppose."

They're distracted by the appearance of a silver streak of light running towards them- an otter, he realises as it draws closer, though its form is blurred and indistinct, like a faulty projection.

" _Game on_ ," it says clearly in Hermione's voice. The otter dissipates soon after and Steve grins, shaking himself out. Bruce grimaces at his eagerness.

"I don't know why you're so excited; I've a feeling today is going to end painfully."

He raises his brow, "It'll be fun. It's been a while since we've done any sort of training exercise- it's good to be a team again, against a proper challenge."

"If you say so," Bruce rubs his hands to warm them up, though Steve knows Hermione had already cast a warming spell on the man.

"Look on the bright side- at least they're not using teleportation- this would be over before you knew it if that were the case."

"On the plus side, it'd be over before we knew it."

"Hilarious."

"I try."

Steve looks up to the sky, eyes scanning for any sign of Harry- there was no doubt in his mind that the wizard would be the one tasked with capture. Hermione may be a formidable woman (and honestly he is  _not_  envious of Thor, Natasha and Tony), but it was obvious she loathed flying, and with apparition off the table that left Harry to pick up the slack.

His comm clicks, " _She knows how to make a good trap,_ " Natasha states in a breathy voice, " _pretty sure she's got some kind of alarm set up too- it's what I'd do. Stark, can you see their base? Kind of shooting blind here_."

Steve almost doesn't want to know what kind of 'trap' Hermione had set up.

There's a period of extended silence as Tony complies. Steve stands at ease beside their flag; Bruce remains seated, but he looks cagey, eyes flickering around the clearing as though expecting Harry to appear at any moment.

"Don't forget they can camouflage themselves," he tells the scientist. Bruce huffs a sigh of frustration, his breath fogging up almost immediately.

"Of course they can."

Their earpieces click again, " _Found it. Looks like they've got a similar setup to ours- no visible traps or defences, but I doubt Hermione would let anything slip past her without a good fight_."

" _I got that_ ," Natasha replies tightly.

" _Sending you the location now… Potter's not in sight, but I'm catching something moving your way Cap- and fast_."

"Understood," he stands a little straighter. Here's to hoping his shield is impervious to most of their spells. Natasha gives Tony her thanks and the line falls silent once again, save for the occasional complaint or remark. Steve nods at Bruce, "You'll probably want to suit up pretty soon."

Bruce makes a face at him but gets up all the same, tugging off his scarf and slouching off his coat, "The things I do for this job," he grumbles good-naturedly.

Steve huffs a laugh, "The things we all do for this job."

Over the comms, Tony curses, " _Shit. Harry's after you; ETA twenty seconds, east-south-east of your position_."

Steve nods, for a moment forgetting Tony can't actually see him, "Copy that. Bruce, now would be the time for you to-"

"On it!" Bruce cuts him off with a strained grunt. When Steve turns back to the man, his skin is already a sickly green and his body is growing in a series of painful looking convulsions. He tears his eyes away and catches the rapidly approaching form of Harry on his broom. The transformation is over quickly, "Hulk, you know the drill; catch, but try not to break anything," he orders grimly, "I hear that broom's-" but the Hulk is already launching himself into the air with a roar, aimed at Harry with the kind of single-minded ferocity that only the Hulk can channel, "… one of a kind." He finishes with a sigh.

Harry dodges out of the Hulk's grasp, spinning upside-down and to the left with such grace Steve could almost imagine the move was part of a dance (then again, maybe it was). The Hulk roars in frustration, crashing into the tree-line in a mess of green and brown limbs. Harry hoots in exhilaration and Steve pulls up his shield, following the wizard as he circles the clearing. He makes no move to do anything but take stock of the area.

"Hiya, Steve," he calls outs, swooping out of the way of the returning Hulk. Hulk snarls, but doesn't appear enraged, so much as irritated. A good sign as far as Steve's concerned.

"Harry," he replies, eyes on the other man- in particular his hands and any presence of a wand.

"You have something I want, Steve."

Steve fights very hard to  _not_  roll his eyes. Harry was maybe taking this whole 'enemy' role a touch too seriously (that didn't mean he wasn't going to play along, of course), "I could say the same for you. Why don't you come here so we can talk about it? Man to man."

Harry cackles, and pulls off a loop-de-loop that looks far easier than it probably is, "But Steve, Hulk is having so much  _fun!_ "

To his left, Hulk tries to catch Harry again, and another innocent tree pays for his troubles, "That so?" he replies dryly, hand hidden by his body and shield as he moves to grasp his handgun. Like Nat and Clint, he'd come armed with an ICER (the best thing to have come out of SHIELD for a long time, if he were honest), but he wasn't planning on using it this early on. He kind of wanted to see what Harry would do first.

He waits, watching the pattern of Harry's movements- swoop high, out of the Hulk's reach, back down low as the green behemoth pulls himself out of the trees he ends up landing in. Steve would be worried, were it not for the odd strangled laughs from Hulk; when brought out with intent, he was like a gigantic green puppy filled with unfathomable rage and playfulness. It was clear Hulk was enjoying Harry's game of chasey and wasn't trying terribly hard to actually catch him.

" _So much for the Hulk helping_ ," Clint mutters over the line. Steve rolls his eyes, but he can't argue the point.

_-There_ \- as Harry swoops in low again, he pulls out the ICER and shoots, clipping the man's sleeve at the same moment an arrow flies out from behind him and explodes into a net that tangles around the cursing wizard.  _Thank God for Clint and his plethora of trick arrows_ , he notes with glee as the dual distractions send Harry careering into the earth close to the treeline.

"Jesus  _fuck_  that  _hurt_ , Rogers!" he screeches, cursing and scrabbling about as he fights off the net. He leaves the broom where it is and whips out his wand from God knows where, stumbling forwards and red-faced, "I am  _so_  making you pay for that."

"Bring it on, Gandalf."

In his ear, someone makes a choking noise- probably Tony. Steve considers it a win in and of itself.

Another arrow flies out, somewhere to Steve's right this time- it erupts into foam at Harry's feet, expanding and sticking to him as he tries to take a step forward, throwing him abruptly back onto the ground. He grins and sends a lazy salute in the direction of where he last saw the arrow came from.

Harry swears again, and throws up a shimmering shield of force that the Hulk slams ineffectually into. He snarls and hits at it with his fists, and the force field turns rubbery and elastic, causing his clenched fists to bounce back and hit himself in the face.

Hulk stumbles back, blinking in bewilderment and shaking his head. He scowls, "MAGIC MAN PLAY TRICK!" he cries, hitting the shimmering field again. This time Steve can  _hear_  the  _boing-swack_  as his fist rebounds and hits him again. The Hulk looks visibly disgruntled, and Steve fights very hard against the urge to laugh. He's not seen this level of slapstick since Bucky walked into a tree as they were stalking a Hydra base in '45.

" _Please_   _tell me you caught that on camera_ ," his comm clicks.

"'Fraid not," Steve grits his teeth as the very conspicuous and very shiny of a stag emerged from the shield, catching the Hulk's attention and drawing him away. With Harry's obvious distraction working, the shield comes down and Steve readies himself for things to turn ugly, "Looks like we're on our own now, Clint."

Harry flicks away one of Clint's oncoming arrows like it was only travelling at an eighth of the speed. It explodes into a mass of sticky goo several feet away, " _Incarcerous_ ," he says calmly as he points his wand at Steve. He jumps and rolls away as the ground where he'd been standing transforms into a writhing chaos of ropes, reaching for his limbs with an apparent life of their own.

_No more fun and games now_ , Steve thinks to himself, taking in the determined look on his face.

"Stupefy," Harry murmurs just loud enough for Steve to catch with his enhanced hearing. His shield has the red light glancing off into the forest and Steve dances away again, before the ground can turn to ropes. Harry flicks his wand and a beam of yellow light shoots at him- he ducks and weaves from spell after spell, mindful of how close he's drawing to the wizard.

Harry's grin has returned and suddenly Steve's vision is filled with vicious birds that screech and aim for his eyes with razor sharp talons- he curses and the ropes catch at his feet in the distraction. The birds burst into feathers when he hits them, disintegrating when they touch the ground. He slices at the ropes with his shield and launches himself at one of the nearby trees, flipping and turning as he does to push off as soon as he touches it. He hears Harry cry out in surprise, and then there's a solid  _thunk_  as his body collides with the shield and both of them are sent flying. They land in a tangle of limbs, his shield rolling away as Steve wrestles over control of the grapple.

Harry groans in a mix of surprise and pain, but he doesn't sound injured. He grins down at the entrapped wizard.

There's a brief pause, before both of them register the implications of their positions; Steve all but straddling the other man, stretched out and gripping at his wrists to stop him from casting any spells. Steve is really hoping Tony's not around to see this.

Harry lets out a winded laugh, "Christ Rogers! I know I'm great, but you didn't have to throw yourself at me!"

Steve rolls his eyes and plucks the strip of wood from the wizard's grasp, throwing it as far from them as possible, "Dream on Potter; I've seen pigs with better faces than yours."

"Oink Oink," he says, pulling a face, "My cousin made a better pig."

Steve quirks a brow, backing off slightly now that the man is disarmed. Harry takes the opening, surging forward with a strength Steve is very sure he doesn't actually possess and elbowing him in the face. He flips them over (and right now, Steve is infinitely grateful his uniform has a cup, because without it he would have ended up with a bony knee in the nads). They blink at each other in surprise.

"I… did not think that would work," Harry confesses. Steve grins in delight and throws the man off him. His skin tingles from the secondary magic.

"You been holding out on me, Potter?"

"You've been going easy on me."

Steve shrugs as they circle each other. He keeps his hand resting on his thigh, over the ICER, "After that speech you gave us? A'course I was holdin' out."

He throws his shield, aiming for Harry's legs. The field he just manages to throw up only slows it down, and it hits Harry in the thigh at the same moment a tazer arrow hits him in the back.

The wizard's eyes widen in shock and he falls to the ground as his muscles lock and spasm. Steve watches Harry's convulsing form carefully- he's making an odd, strangled sound in the back of his throat, and he feels pretty bad for the move. Not bad enough though, he thinks as he feels the swell of energy in the air- like ozone- before the arrow sparks and fizzes and dies.

"Holy  _shit!_ " Harry gasps, collapsing to his knees, "That fucking  _hurt!_ "

"You okay?" he asks in concern.

"I'm fine.  _Just peachy_ ," the wizard snaps, and his arm twitches and suddenly Steve is flat on his back, not entirely sure how he got there. His back is a dull ache though, so he assumes Harry threw him there.

"Gloves off now," he hears Harry remark, moving towards the flag. Steve curls and flips onto his feet- he feels slightly off kilter still, but he shakes his head and the disorientation fades. He watches as Harry draws up another shield to deflect another three of Clint's arrows, and he turns halfway to watch Steve run at him.

His hand twitches again, and this time Steve is flying to the right, landing painfully on his shoulder. He groans and rights himself as a distant roar fills the air.

"Well shit," Harry says, "I was really hoping that enthrallment spell would last a little longer."

" _MAGIC MAN!_ " the Hulk roars through his earpiece, cutting through the chaotic chatter of his teammates. Steve winces- even with his set to the lowest setting, there were times when his enhanced hearing was just too sensitive, " _HULK WILL SQUASH HIM!_ "

"Hulk!" he orders before things can get out of hand, "Go find Tony- I think he, Natasha and Thor may need your help."

It's not exactly a lie, perse. Sure by the sounds of them through the comms, they were doing okay- about as well as he and Clint were doing with Harry. But if they wanted to win this exercise, they needed that flag. Hulk could only help in that aspect, if only to provide as an extra distraction for the witch.

Hulk gives him a churlish reply but complies, and Steve breathes an internal sigh of relief. He directs the sole of his attention back to Harry, who's eyeing the flag several yards away with a covetous expression. Steve grins, quirking a brow, "Go on then. I  _dare_  you."

His nose twitches. The wizard makes his move and Steve runs at him. They crash to the ground again, Harry snarling at him like a disgruntled animal all the while, "I just want the flag, Steve! Can't you grant an old refugee that?" he wails, grappling with Steve with his magic enhanced strength. The air between them seems to crackle with unseen energy and Steve grits his teeth at the exhilarating sensation of raw magic on his skin.

"That's not how this thing works!" he growls, and throws the smaller man off. He lands and rolls, hopping to his feet to make another mad dash for the flag. Steve and one of Clint's gooey arrows stop him just as he hears in his earpiece Hulk and the rest of their team meeting up. He grins at the plan Tony is spouting as he struggles inelegantly not to fall flat on his ass with Harry- the goop from Clint's arrow had unfortunately claimed his boots as a casualty of war.

Harry sighs and touches the slime surrounding their legs and it turns to water. Steve grimaces as it fills his boots and grabs the hem of the wizard's coat before he can get away. He wraps his arms up and around Harry's arms and neck, and the man squawks in outrage.

"A full nelson? Really Steve?"

"A stun arrow would be-"

Before he can even finish, an arrow whips out in reply, but Harry pulls up another one of those annoying shields- this time in a bubble all around them. The arrow makes a soft  _tink_  noise as it hits the barrier, like cutlery on fine china. Harry grows and moves, bending forwards and tucking his leg behind Steve's, and throws the both of them to the ground. The wizard's elbow whacks into his trachea and he chokes as Harry scrambles up off the icy earth.

And then, through the shimmering yellow of the shield, comes the muffled sound of a deafening  _boom_  that pulls Harry up short. Steve can hears his teammate's crows of victory (especially Tony) in his ear.

"Shit," he says eloquently.

"I agree," Steve gasps and shoots the wizard in the shoulder.

" _Shit!_ " Harry says again and stumbles backwards. The shield negates itself as he falls on his ass and Steve smiles in grim satisfaction. He stands up, weapon still trained on his friend, and rubs at his throat.

"That was… well played," Harry slurs. Steve grins at him, only feeling a little bad about shooting him. He really liked these low-dose ICERs.

"I try. Do I need to shoot you again, or are you gonna stay where you are?"

"That's not gonna be a problem," Harry groans and tries- and fails- to roll over onto his side, "Ugh- it's gonna take me a while to work through that tranq of yours." He blinks owlishly up at the winter sky and Steve wonders only for a moment how he manages to keep his glasses on.

Right. Magic.

"Dendrotoxin," Steve corrects him as the whine of Tony's engines becomes audible.

" _Cap, I'm on route with the cargo_ ," Tony notifies him gleefully. Steve rolls his eyes, "ETA right… about… now!"

And then Natasha drops out of the sky and into a dramatic roll, flag in hand, right on top of their own flag.

"We win," she says smugly, and in celebration Tony's speakers blare some song Steve is unfamiliar with, but has Harry groaning and Natasha rolling her eyes.

"Congrats," Harry cheers without enthusiasm, "I'd make you a trophy if I could move."

Tony cackles gleefully, "I want mine to read 'I fought ridiculous magic users and came out on top, 2014'-"

"-Hilarious, Stark. Where's Hermione?"

Tony lifts his visor, "She's coming back with Thor."

As if summoned, the crackle of thunder fills the air, and he smells the familiar scent of ozone. Flying towards them at a quarter of his usual speed comes Thor and Steve can just make out the small form of Hermione clinging to him for dear life. The god lands with far more care than most would think possible (not even a crater in the ground to show for it)- given he uses a hammer to  _fly_ \- some several yards away from them. Hermione seems frozen to him though, legs wrapped around his waist and arms clinging to his chest and neck. Her hair is a disaster, frizzed to distraction and escaping every which way.

His fingers itch to draw the sight.

"Lady Hermione, we have landed," Thor rumbles, dropping Mjolnir to pull a strand of her hair out of his mouth.

"We have?"

"Yes. The ground is solid beneath my feet- as it would be yours."

"That's- right. Okay." She giggles, suddenly. It sounds a little hysterical, "I- oh my… I think my limbs have forgotten how to work."

Harry laughs from his place on the ground, "Eheeh. It's okay Hermione; so have mine." His head lolls over to look at Steve, "She really doesn't like flying," he tells him seriously.

"Quite," Hermione agrees. She makes a funny little sound of gratitude as Thor gently disentangles her from him, "Thanks. I'm just going to-" she collapses in a heap on the ground, "-sit here for a while."

Tony raises a brow at his girlfriend, "You okay there, Queenie?"

Hermione makes a noise of complaint, "The ground is cold."

"I know," Harry hums in agreeance.

"Well done, by the way," she says after settling her composure, "That was well played. You guys are formidable."

Clint- just joining them- rubs his knuckles on his chest, "We are."

Steve rolls his eyes. Hermione sighs and gives up on trying to sit up like a normal human. Natasha's lips twitch.

"So…" Thor says hopefully, "… Another?"

Harry and Hermione only groan in response.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blows out long, relieved breath. The relief of posting this is awesome. You have no idea.
> 
> I have a feeling people are going to argue about the whole Hulk thing and the 'enthrallment' spell on the patronus, but please, just deal. Action scenes are not my forte, so please, forgive me.
> 
> This part is wrapping up soon! So until the next chapter, ciao!


	8. Steve Observes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To settle a few ruffled feathers. I made Harry and Hermione fail because even though their powers seriously outmatch most of the people in the Avengers, they're also their friends. Sub/consciously, they were checking themselves and limiting their arsenal- partly because they were afraid of hurting them, and also because it gave them an opportunity to observe the Avengers in action against a medium/low level threat.   
> Hope that clears things up for a few of you who were unhappy with who won! :)

Despite Harry and Hermione’s initial dramatics, they quickly get up to play another game- this time not so hideously outnumbered. Though, Steve suspects they had been holding back, despite their encouragements not to. Hermione may be primarily a researcher, but Harry had been a law enforcer- one of the best, according to Hermione and Malfoy. There was _no_ _way_ he could have been such a little challenge, and Steve’s _certain_ there could have been several spells the man could have used to detain Steve and Clint for long enough to take the flag and leave.

His suspicions are confirmed when the pair are split into two different teams, and their third battle quickly devolves into the pair of them battling it out viciously, going at each other with a ferocity Steve would have thought only enemies capable of, had he not watched Natasha and Clint do the same on countless occasions.

The pair are a sight to behold; Hermione is savagely ruthless, but she relies on more on stealth and trickery than straight out attacks, apparating in and out of existence almost too quickly to catch anything more than the _crack_ of sound she leaves behind, or turning herself invisible and attacking out of nowhere. Her magic is subtle and hard to catch unless looking for it, though the destruction she wreaks is nothing to laugh at. Harry on the other hand- while just as brutal- is far flashier, and the power he wields is leagues above his friend’s.

Watching them fight each other, Steve is almost- _almost-_ grateful they didn’t play like this against him or his team mates the first time. He watches as a young tree explodes into so many splinters from an unspoken spell of Harry’s that Hermione had deflected, and almost misses the curse she sends back that turns a fallen tree to stone. She doesn’t act with the same grace of movement that the wizard did, but there’s an efficiency to her moments that is still remarkably formidable (it almost reminds him of Peggy, angry and willing to punch a man out at the drop of a hat).

Her spells are slyer, too- a curse that leaves Harry laughing too hard to catch his breath; another that seems to make his legs unable to support his weight; ones that blind him and make him deaf: almost like she’s toying with him, happy to distract him while her teammates (Natasha, Bruce and Tony) retrieve the flag. Harry meanwhile seems mainly intent on trying to incapacitate her, with limited degrees of success- they’re both so frenetic; slippery and moving too quickly for either to get the upper hand.  

It goes on like that for what seems like hours; Steve catches only short glimpses as he fights (but he watches the footage Tony had been recording later, in the safety of the Tower), but it’s enough. The dual display of power, the control over what feels like reality itself, is enough for him to know that they would be a valuable addition to the team (and God, but their _power_. How could they ever hope to counter some of those spells?). Is enough to know that both had undoubtedly held back the first round (and perhaps also, the second). Is enough to know that were they to fight them as enemies, there would be casualties.

And then she slips- a misjudgement of movement that has her tripping up, and Harry _pounces_ , paralysing and tying her up quicker than Steve can say ‘dead meat’. And the whole, fantastical thing is over. He flashes a victorious grin Steve’s way before running off to help out Clint.

Needless to say, their team wins that round.

 


	9. People Leave for Places Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE GETTIN' CLOSE TO PART FOUR NOW
> 
> *coughs* Sorry. I'm just excited, is all.

 

 

Harry walks in on the butt end of a conversation early in February. Steve stands strong and tall, facing the floor to ceiling window that looks out across the Manhattan skyline. The line between his muscled shoulders is taught and he holds his phone tightly enough for the whites of his knuckles to show stark and white.

"Yes, sir," he says, seemingly unaware of Harry's arrival, 'but what of- I see." He breathes out slow and his face is so close to the glass that he fogs it, "Yessir. Rumlow? I've heard he's pretty good; it'll be good to work with new people."

Harry wavers where he stands, unsure if he should be party to this conversation. He shifts to turn towards the kitchen, but Steve half-turns and gives him a little half wave. Harry sighs and throws himself down upon the ridiculously comfortable sofa and waits as the supersoldier continues talking to (presumably) SHIELD.

"How long?" an extended pause and Steve sighs heavily again, "Right, I understand… No, I'd rather not stay at the Triskellion. Yes. Yes. Okay." He glances back at Harry, and puffs out his cheeks. Harry muffles a laugh into the leather of the couch, "Yessir. I'm sorry sir, but I have to go. Yes sir, tomorrow morning."

The speaker on the other side must hang up, because Steve lets out a long, drawn-out groan.

"Fury?"

"Yes. He wants Natasha and I to be stationed in DC for a while," he replies, and collapses onto the couch too, his big arms flopping down on either side like they weigh a tonne.

Harry raises a brow and rolls onto his back, "How long?"

"He didn't know. But I think it's gonna be a while."

He stays quiet for a time, mulling on that answer, "Well then," he doesn't want Steve to go, but it's not exactly his place to ask him to stay, even if they are friends, "did he tell you why?"

Steve shrugs, "He  _said_  it was because he wanted me to start working with his strike force- the men on the team are skilled at what they do…. But who knows with Fury. He could have a million and one reasons for wanting to keep me there, and he's gonna keep 'em all close to his chest… We leave tomorrow morning."

Harry hums and takes note of the emptiness in his chest, "You hungry?"

Steve gives him a wry smile, "Always."

* * *

It's… well, it's not exactly boring without Steve and Natasha, but it's certainly less interesting without them around. Harry's known for a long time that there's little for him to actually  _do_  here. Short of starting his own vigilante justice empire or a black-market supply of magitech, there's not terribly much he can offer himself for in the tower. And he and Hermione may have decades of shared past between them, but their interests and talents were worlds apart (not to mention she had Tony Stark to satiate/entertain). Even Draco seems put out by their absence- though Harry's sure that's moreso because of Natasha than it is Steve.

It only takes a week of sitting on his arse, glued to Netflix, before he breaks and starts looking for work. Two weeks and no short amount of deflecting and ass-kissing and genuflection later (and probably some sly wrangling on Stark's/Jarvis' part, if he's honest) and he miraculously manages to land himself a cashier job in a twenty-four hour convenience store several suburbs away. His employer is a middle-aged woman who smiles too little and pays cash in hand. She doesn't ask questions, which is fine by Harry, because he's not entirely sure how he'd answer them anyway.

It's a long way down from Head Auror, but it's something, and honestly Harry just enjoys playing the role of surly teenager again. It's considerably more enjoyable when there's no threat of death and destruction hanging over his head.

Stark blatantly disapproves of the venture, but Hermione finds the whole thing infinitely amusing; though it takes her a month before she comes to see him. She laughs when she finds him- chewing on gum with a meticulously cultured bored expression on his face, selling booze and cigarettes and poptarts to the late night customers.

"My, how the mighty have fallen," she smirks, nodding to his uniform and name badge, "Dudley. Really?"

"It seemed fitting," Harry replies, popping his gum obnoxiously. "Think I shoulda made myself ugly too. S'not like anyone's gonna remember my name anyway."

She quirks a brow, "With a name like Dudley, I think they're bound to."

He grins at her, "Do you want something, 'Mione?"

"Not really," she shrugs, "though I suppose I should buy a few of your least healthy things, just to torment Tony a little more." Tony had been largely horrified by Harry's job search- had tried to offer him a job in the tower to appease him but Harry was having none of that. He wanted an honest to God job- one that he should have had in his  _actual_  teenagerdom. One that wasn't in the tower.

"Well, the least healthy'd have to be the cigarettes, but I'd have to ID you for that."

"Mm, I'd rather not give Tony any more vices than he already has."

"Then twinkies are always a good bet. I'm not entirely sure what it is about Americans and those things, but they love their- oh! Actually, grab that can of whipped cream- second aisle, down near then end. That'll clog up your arteries real good."

The corners of her lips twitch in amusement, "You're taking this job seriously, I see."

He snorts, "This is only the first half of the shift. Things get real interesting later." He leans in close, eyes wide and his friend moves closer in response, "That's when the  _stoners_  come in. And Christ, they're so much  _fun!_ "

Hermione lets out a startled laugh, "I'll have to take your word for that."

"You don't understand; a week ago I had a guy coming in asking to  _pet my hair_. He gave me a bead for my  _dreadlocks._ "

"… You don't have dreadlocks."

"I know!Hermione, this job is  _awesome_."

"Do you still have the bead?"

He pulls out the fine chain with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows on it. A large, clumsily carved bone bead sits next to it. Hermione nods in faked appreciation, "That is really something."

"Right!?"

"I think I'll take Darcy with me next time."

"You should. I'm sure she'd appreciate this more than you." She nods absently, and wanders down the aisles, picking up an assortment of pointless items along the way.

"Doctor Pepper ice-cream syrup," she muses loud enough for Harry to hear, "I wonder what that's like."

"I don't know, but I really want an Irn-Bru syrup because of it."

"Mm," she hums, "I'd buy it."

He smirks. When she returns to the counter, she's carrying an armful of products Harry mostly reserves for the drunk and the hopelessly single; ice-cream, the syrup, the can of whipped cream, a small bottle of hand sanitizer and instant noodles. He raises a brow, "Trouble in paradise?"

Hermione just gives him The Look, "Harry,  _you_  live with me. There's always trouble in paradise."

He snickers, "C'mon; Tony accounts for at  _least_  sixty percent."

She rolls her eyes, "Try eighty."

He wiggles his eyebrows and brings up her account, "That's twenty-three eighty-five."

She passes over the shiny black credit card with Tony's name embossed in gold. It's probably never been used to pay for something so plebeian. He says as much but Hermione just hums, "I don't know," she says softly, eyes turning fond, "he surprises me, sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Okay, most of the time."

He changes her money over and she leaves with a smile and a wave, disappearing out the door. Harry muses on how happy the how the displacement has ultimately made her. He's glad; Hermione hasn't been happy- properly happy- for a long time. For a brief moment- in between her hair vanishing out of sight and the  _swish_  of doors as another customer walks in, he wonders if it's going to stay this way.

He hopes so. This is the life they always should have had.


	10. Shit Gets Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, the title's kind of self explanatory, is it not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of part three! But hold onto your seats, 'cause part four is gonna be one hell of a ride.  
> ...  
> Probably.

Harry gets a message from Tony three and a half hours after Hermione leaves.

_Fury dead. Unknown assassin. will keep you posted._

His blood runs cold, and he stares at the text in disbelief.

Fury was dead?

It's… surreal. Director Fury was an imposing man who gave off an air of strength that made it hard to believe he could ever die.

He pulls up Tony's number with hands that betray nothing, " _Harry_."

"Tony. What happened?"

A sigh from across the line, " _I don't know- SHIELD's being very hush hush about the whole thing- I'm looking into it. Steve says it was some guy with a metal arm but he didn't seem to know much more than that_."

Harry swallows, "What does that-what does this mean for us? Fury was one of the few who knew about us, right?"

" _Yeah. I'm trying to get a hold of Hill, but in typical SHIELD fashion, no one's saying anything."_

"When did it happen?"

" _Uh- about two hours ago_."

"Two-  _and you didn't think to say anything earlier?_ "

Tony makes an irritated sound and Harry hears a muted clatter in the background, " _No offense, Greenbean, but you're not exactly my first priority. You're at work- it didn't seem to apply to you. Which- hm… yeah. In hindsight, might have been an oversight_."

"You don't say. Tony, he was one of the few people who actually knew about us."

" _Look, you'll be fine for now. Semi-illegal aliens or not, you're the least of SHIELD's concerns for at least the next forty-eight hours. We'll worry about that when they come a'knockin'_. If  _they come a'knockin'._ "

Harry sighs heavily- rubs at his face and turns to face the doors, "So, what do we do?"

" _For now? Act normal. As far as I can tell, none of this is related to us… so, do your shift, come back when it's done. But keep an eye out- you see any shifty characters you'd best get the hell out of dod-_ " over the phone Harry hears a muted crash and a curse from Tony, " _Dammit Dum-E! I swear to Gods one of these days I'm turning you into scrap metal_!"

Harry puffs out his cheeks, eyeing the empty store with just the slightest touch of paranoia.

Another crash. Tony curses again, " _Crap. Look, I gotta go- something's up with the bots. I need to sort them out before they start breaking things that_ can't  _be replaced. Call me when you finish._ "

"Wait, Tony-!"

But he's already hung up. He groans in frustration. He's half tempted to pettily throw the phone at the wall, but it would just be a pointless waste. He pulls out his phone and sends a text to Steve, but he doesn't really expect a reply. Though they kept in touch regularly, Steve's replies were often sporadic and unreliable- sometimes he'd get immediate replies- other times several hours (sometimes days). Harry wasn't much better, for all his apparent aimlessness. If the man was in any involved in this whole thing with Fury, it was unlikely Steve would answer any time soon.

Harry soldiers on through his shift, the stirrings of unease in his gut seeming to ramp up with every hour that passes and the customers are less charming than he usually finds them. For once he finds himself  _not_  playing the role of surly teenager, getting sullen and tetchy with them without meaning to. Even so, the night eventually ends, and then he's passing the shift over to Andy- the morning guy- with a hasty wave and a promise to see him later.

The moment he's on the streets, he's calling Tony again. It's dark out, and at two am, there's no one on the streets bar him and the stray cat that always gives him the evil eye.

Tony picks up after the fifth ring.

" _Harry._ "

"Tony. Any news?"

The billionaire huffs over the line, " _Nothing of use, SHIELD reports an unidentified sniper, unmarked rounds. Steve was present at the time of the assassination. He pursued, but failed to catch them- and honestly that in and of itself is enough to raise a few brows. But otherwise the SHIELD files are void of anything of use. It's fascinating, really. I didn't think they were capable of being that slipshod about anything; I suppose they're in shock_."

Harry hums, "I just finished up. I'll be back in a moment."

He pictures Tony waving his arms dismissively, " _Yeah, alright._ "

He hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket, slipping into his usual apparition point (not that what he did these days could really be called apparition, but it was a habit he couldn't be bothered shaking)- a small barricaded alcove that houses the employee bathrooms. He double checks to make sure no one sees him, before turning on the spot and disappearing silently.

He ends up in Tony's workshop, and it's a testament to how often they've done this that Tony doesn't so much as twitch at his arrival. He's bent over the inner workings if U, muttering and doing things to it with tools Harry doesn't even know how to name. Dum-E hovers behind him anxiously.

"Everything okay?" he asks cautiously.

"Everything," Tony grunts in reply, "is just  _hunky-dory._ "

Harry raises a brow in disbelief. That is not the reply of a man who's having the time of his life (not to mention, the inventor was awake a two in the morning. Not the best of signs). He jumps up to sit on a stretch of usually clear bench space, "You sure about that? You seem on edge."

Tony looks to send him a baleful glare. Harry takes not of the bags beneath his eyes. It's entirely possible the older man hasn't slept in several days, "Fury is  _dead_ ; SHIELD has no idea who-dunnit; Queenie's giving me the cold shoulder and the bots have been playing up all night-  _no,_ Butterfingers, I  _don't_  want another smoothie- for the love of God stop before  _I_  stop you!"

Harry frowns, but accepts the smoothie Butterfingers tries to offload to him, looking sad and dejected. It's an unattractive grey-green, as though it has grease mixed in it- a tentative sniff confirms his suspicions and he sets it down beside him as the robot trundles away contentedly.

Then he catches up with what Tony had said.

"Wait- what was that about Hermione? She's giving you the cold shoulder?"

"Yes," Tony fumes, and closes the access port on U with more force than is truly necessary, "We had an argument and she stormed off."

"… When was this?"

Tony sighs and rests his forehead tiredly against the bench, "Dinner time. Or earlier. I don't know."

Harry bites his lip, confused, "But she wasn't angry when she swung by the store. That's-"

'-Are you saying she went to go see you?" he asks, straightening up again.

Harry nods slowly, "Well, yeah. You didn't know?"

Tony shakes his head, "She enacted privacy mode in the Tower and runescaped her phone. I've had no idea where she is since she left."

Harry frowns, "I didn't know she was back on the old prototype." Hermione had finally cracked the phone issue months ago and moved onto newer and shinier models as soon as she was able. Protection runes weren't necessary on any of the phones she made now.

The genius hums, "She broke the Mark IV a couple of days ago- had to go back to the Mark II while she worked on a replacement. But that's not important," he waves his hands dismissively, "what's  _important_ , is that she went to see you, and she wasn't mad."

He shakes his head, "I didn't think so. But that was like, three hours before you even called,"

Tony's frowning now, eyes glancing off to the side and fixating on Harry's discarded smoothie, "Okay," he says slowly, "then maybe she's-"

And then the lights cut out.

* * *

The workshop is deathly silent for a long moment, the shock and disbelief an almost tangible sensation. Harry feels like the earth has shifted beneath him and he feels only a shaky uncertainty as Tony erupts into violent cussing. He hears a loud peal of sound as something metal his the floor. More curses follow it. The darkness is absolute, but for the muted glow of Tony's arc reactor.

"What-" his voice almost breaks. He clears his throat and tracks the jerky, phrenetic movements of Tony's reactor. Licks his lips nervously, "what just happened?"

"The power's  _fucking gone!_ " Tony snarls, "Jarvis, status report!"

The silence is ominous.

" _Jarvis_!" Tony growls. A hint of apprehension creeps into his voice, "Jarvis, what the fuck happened to the power?"

The AI remains conspicuously quiet. Harry belatedly realises that he is in fact a wizard, and creates a ball of light to illuminate the room. Both of them wince at the sudden brightness.

"How could the power even go out?" call it ignorance, or wishful thinking, but Harry had always thought of the tower as a changeless, untouchable monument, guarded by the sardonic AI. Things like this just  _didn't happen_.

" _It can't_. The tower's powered by an arc reactor. It doesn't just  _stop working_ \- and if it ever did, Jarvis would have noticed the problem before it could even become one!"

"But if the power's out, how could he-"

"You think I wouldn't have a back-up system or three?" Tony snarls, almost incredulous. Harry would be offended were it not for the disquieting look of panic and anger on his face, "Fuck, but even my back-ups have back-ups. Jarvis is hooked up to several power supplies, on the odd, off chance something happened to the reactor. He should still fucking be here!"

He curses and turns away to rummage around the closes bench frantically and makes a soft noise of triumph when he finds a tablet. The screen illuminates his face, like a child about to tell a horror story. He's silent a moment, fingers tapping before his eyes widen at something on the screen, "Shit."

"What?"

"Cell service is down.  _Fuck_. This is bad. This is very much  _not good._ "

Harry pulls out his phone. Sure enough, the little symbol in the corner is showing no signal. He sets the expensive piece of technology down on the bench, "So something's happened to our cell access, and Jarvis has gone AWOL. But that's- shouldn't that be impossible?"

Tony types madly away at the tablet, "Anything can be hacked, theoretically. In practice though? Shouldn't happen. Jarvis isn't just piece of programming- he's the most advanced AI  _in the world_. Someone'd have to be  _more_  than a prodigy to get past him."

Harry opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Thinks better of it, "What do you want me to do?"

Tony stops what he's doing. Stares blankly at the flat piece of electronics in his hands.

"Tony," Harry reiterates softly. The inventor looks up at him. He looks torn, "Tony, what do we need to do?"

He glances back down at the tablet and nods once- to himself "I need you to wake up Malfoy and Barton- quickly, use you magic stuff. And then I need you to get Bruce out of here. If the Tower's under attack, the last thing any of us want is him hulking out. Crap- this is so not the time for Thor to be off with Jane."

Harry frowns, "But wouldn't he want to be here? He's a part of the team."

The older man shakes his head, tucking the tablet under his arm and making his way over to a wall, "No. Not in this kind of scenario- it's too risky. This was one of  _his_  plans, anyway."

"But what if-"

"Christ, Potter! Just send him there with a portkey. If he wants to come back- or we need him, then he can just magic himself back here!"

He closes his mouth. There is wisdom to be found in that order, though it rubs him the wrong way. Harry sends a  _patronus_  to Malfoy and Clint, with a message to get themselves here as quickly as possible. And isn't it strange, but he'd never thought he'd see the day where he was  _relieved_  to have Malfoy in the Tower for once. They'd gone a long way from their time in the beginning, but their interactions remained terse and stilted.

A thought occurs to him and he stops mid-motion, about to leave, "If we're under attack, how easily are they going to get in here? Without Jarvis and the power, we're dead in the water."

Tony shakes his head from where he's prying open a piece of the wall with a crowbar, "We'll be okay for a while yet- the moment the power fails the tower goes into lockdown. It's not as comprehensive as it would have been with Jarvis, but no one's coming in or out of here without magic or at the very least, a plasma cutter.  _Goddammit_ , why did I insist on keeping the armour behind a secret door?" He pushes hard against the lever and the door finally gives. He gives a cry of triumph, "The bastards waited until late- makes sense. Most people aren't going to be around, and those that are should be asleep.  _But how did they disable Jarvis?_ "

"How long?"

"An hour. I hope. There are a lot of floors between us and the ground. Less, if they have a copter."

Harry swallows, "Let's hope they don't." The glint of red and gold behind the secret door sparks him into action, and he apparates straight into Bruce's apartments before the snarling inventor can reply. He's been here once- months ago (just after Christmas)- but not terribly much has changed since then. His television's moved to another wall, but the shelves crammed with books are as orderly as ever, and his kitchen seems to house mostly empty mugs and fruit. The living area is dark- hardy a surprise.

"Bruce?" he calls out, unwilling to wake him unannounced, " _Bruce?_ "

There's no answer. Harry hopes he won't react badly to being awoken, and hovers uncertainly behind the only door he can hear a soft snoring from. He knocks, hard. The snoring cuts off abruptly. Harry knocks again, "Bruce? You awake?"

There's a muted groan, "I-I am now."

Harry sighs, "You'd best get dressed. We've a situation."

"A situation?" the sound of rustling and a drawer opening and closing, "Hm- the light's not turning on."

He cringes, "The power's out."

"But that's impossible! What about-"

"-Jarvis is down too. We're dead in the water."

A prolonged silence. The door opens abruptly and Bruce stares at him with wide and very-much-awake eyes, "Jarvis is  _down_?"

Harry ruthlessly quells the urge to pat down the other man's helplessly tousled hair- it looks so soft and-  _no. Shit._  He should have gone to bed twenty minutes ago, "Yeah. Someone's attacking the tower."

Bruce sucks in a harsh breath, "But-"

"I'm here to get you out of here. And we need to leave. Like, five minutes ago."

His expression hardens and he turns around, pulling a battered duffle bag out from under his bed and opening it on the crumple bed spread. Harry's surprised. He'd half expected the scientist to argue with him.

"Is there- is there somewhere for me to take you?"

Bruce glances up from inspecting his bag, "Yeah. There's a cabin that I've used before. It's secure."

"Can you show me?" he asks, motioning tentatively to his head. Harry's aware that most of the people he lives with are wary of mind magic- with good reason. But with Jarvis down, and any chance of internet access out of the picture, it's the easiest way, and Harry  _needs_  to at least see where they're going.

"How?" Bruce asks, puzzled by the gesture.

"You just… think of the place," Bruce's eyes widen in realisation, "A memory of it. Keep it in your head, and I can just… pull it out. Like this." Harry demonstrates, thinking of the last customer he'd served at work, and pulls the memory from his head with his wand. Bruce stares at the silvery thread, mouth ajar. Harry gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, "No mind reading necessary, and I only see what you want me to see."

He lets go of the memory and the thread snaps back into place. Bruce swallows, and nods warily, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Harry smiles, "Kay. Just think about the place, and I can do the rest." He nods again and closes his eyes, visualising the safehouse, "Now, I'm just going to touch my wand to your head. You won't feel anything more than a slight tugging."

Bruce frowns, blowing out hard through his nose at the sensation, "That is  _weird._ "

"Yup." Harry agrees as he plants the memory in his own head, "Learnt that from my old auror days."

Daylight. A dam lined with reeds and a small cabin, lace blinds drawn tight and close. A garden, on the verge of abandonment and a line of mountains in the distance. Pine forest all around.

Harry opens his eyes, smiling, "Thanks." He offers his arm, "Are you ready?"

Bruce nods again, and clasps his outstretched arm. Harry apparates them away before he can say anything, and they pop into existence on the overgrown stone path that leads to the cabin. The grass is knee-high in some places, and though it's dark, Harry can tell that no one has been here for at least a month, the long grass pristine and untouched.

Beside him, Bruce lets out a shaky breath, "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that."

Harry gives him a tight smile, "You would. Eventually."

The older man huffs a soft laugh and places his palm on the door. Harry hears the lock click and the door opens. Bruce shuffles inside, but Harry hovers in the doorway.

"I should- I should get going."

Bruce looks up from where he's dumping his bag on the couch. He gives Harry a smile that's closer to a grimace, "Go. It's best I stay out of this- whatever  _this_  is."

Harry nods, and transfigures two wooden bracelets- one white, one black- from the branch of an overgrown hedge before he can forget. He spells both of them into portkeys, "Here," he walks into the cabin and sets them on an exposed shelf in the kitchen, "the white one will take you back to the tower. The black one will take you to Hogwarts. If this place is compromised."

Bruce swallows, but raises a brow all the same, "Is that a possibility?"

He shrugs, "Who knows?" he turns around, hovering at the door once again, "You'll be okay?"

"Fine. There's no one around for miles, and the shelves are all stocked with plenty of food."

Harry nods, "See if you can get a hold of Steve or Natasha, let them know about the Tower. Thor too, if you can. I've a feeling we're going to need them." The other man nods, and he closes the door behind him. Takes a fortifying breath of crisp, clean air, before apparating back to the tower. Clint and Malfoy have joined Tony- who by now has managed to get himself into his armour. He comes in halfway through an argument.

"There is no best case scenario! Jarvis is down, Barton! Shit like that doesn't happen unless someone- someone with very,  _very_ good tech, I might add- is out to get us!"

Harry purses his lips. Whatever was happening had Tony on a serious edge- he's twitchier than he'd been when he left for Bruce- even in the suit, "What's the status?" He asks firmly, the steel in his voice cutting through their argument. Clint and Tony turn to him, Clint's hand twitching momentarily to the sidearm at his hip. His bow rests on a bench in easy reach.

Tony licks his lips anxiously, "Bruce is safe?"

"As much as he can be."

The genius sighs, "Okay. Okay, that's good."

Harry nods, "What's the deal? What's happening?"

Tony bares his teeth in an unsettling mix of a grimace and a snarl, "It's  _Hammer_."

"Hammer?" Harry asks, incredulous, "The idiot who tried to rip-off your tech? I thought he was in prison. All his stocks were liquidated."

"He  _is!_  They  _were!_ "

Harry rubs his face, "How do we know this?"

Tony picks up a tablet and thrusts it in his face, "I managed to hook up a couple of older systems- Malfoy helped- and re-route the power to a couple of miniaturized arc reactors. We've only got basic video feed, but right now I'll take what we can get." Harry squints at the images on the tablet- taps at one of the rectangles and the image fills the screen. He sucks at his teeth at the mass of men in black tac gear swamping the foyer of the tower. He taps again and the image zooms in, focussing on the breast of one of the men. A blurry triangle is embroidered on the material, the name HAMMER only just legible.

"But this isn't  _right!_  Hammer's a hack! His work's always been slipshod and half-assed- never  _mind_  that he doesn't have  _nearly_  the skills to even touch Jarvis- let alone bring him down!" It's clear that suit or not, Tony is having a minor freak out. Harry's never seen him so unsettled before.

"So Hammer has someone good on his side," Malfoy says slowly, "And we'll deal with that when we get to it. But right now, our focus should be on the mass of armed men downstairs, and what it is they actually  _want_."

Harry nods, knowing exactly what Malfoy is thinking, "We need to think of the possibility that they're after us."

Tony shakes his head emphatically, but Clint has a considering look in his eye, " _No_. That doesn't make sense- what would Hammer want a trio of magic-users? That's too proactive for him. Poorly thought out revenge is more his forte-"

"Not if he's working for someone else, it isn't." Clint says quietly, "You said it yourself- this is out of his league. Attacking the tower? Shutting down Jarvis? That's the big leagues, and not something he could have executed from prison. But if he's working for someone? Then he's just a means to an end."

Tony looks like he doesn't want to believe it, "But no one knows about the three of you but Fury and Hill. In all the ways that count, at any rate."

"They're not the only ones," says Draco. "The people who picked me up- the first time, when I landed- they knew what I was. And there were plenty of people who saw me, or Potter. None of this is as clean cut as you'd like to think it is."

Clint's eyes narrow, "Fury's unlikely to have sent anyone he didn't have full trust in. What were their names?"

Malfoy frowns- with his sharp, pointy features it's like his whole is splitting in two, "I can't remember- Carson? Cawson?" the frown grows deeper, "Dawson? No, I'm pretty sure it started with a C-"

"Coulson." A pale-faced Clint offers. Eyes wide. Malfoy snaps his fingers in satisfaction.

"That's it! And his henchman, Ward." He scowls, "Ward  _shot_  me."

Clint shakes his head angrily, and turns to kick a wheelie chair viciously, " _Fuck!_ " he snarls, as the chair crashes into a bench.

Harry glances questioningly at Tony, but he looks equally furious, "Who's Coulson? Is he a traitor?"

"Coulson," Clint says with barely restrained rage, "Was Fury's right hand man, and Nat and I's handler. He was also pegged to become coordinator for the Avengers Initiative. Right up to the point where  _Loki_  speared him through the heart and killed him. Or at least, that's what Fury told us-  _fuck!_ " He looks ready to shoot something.

"Someone's been telling porkies," Malfoy says snidely, a brow arched pointedly.

Clint  _growls_ , "I saw his body! I  _went to his fucking funeral!_  Phil was  _dead_."

"And apparently now he's not! I think we're getting off topic here," Harry says finally, unwilling to let this trainwreck of a conversation continue when there are more pressing issues at hand. "You can eviscerate Coulson all you like  _post_  crisis. Right now, all we need to know is that our secret's not nearly as secret as we thought it was, and there's a very good likelihood that we're paying for that oversight now. And I  _don't_ doubt for a second that this is connected to whoever killed Fury; Hammer's logo or not."

He points at the tablet, "Tony I think you need to contemplate the possibility that they're using Hammer as a means to get you riled up and cocky. So  _you-_ " he stabs at Tony's shielded chest with a finger, "need to remember that whoever's behind this,  _brought down Jarvis_." The expression on the other man's face grows darker, " _Whatever_  they want, they're determined enough to lay siege on the Avengers Tower to get it, and they've already proven that they're plenty smart enough to get the job done. Do  _not_  forget that."

Tony reluctantly nods his acknowledgement and Harry inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, "We need a plan of attack, and we need it fast 'cause I somewhat doubt their only point of contact is going to be the foyer."

And, as if the gods of chaos were listening in, ready to accentuate that fact, the tower is rocked by the muted roar of an explosion only a few floors above them.

"Fuck." Harry says eloquently as concrete dust falls on them like fine ash.

Dum-E falls over in fright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends part three...  
> Did people see Hammer coming? I mean, I thought I made it pretty obvious, I suppose, but no one ever said anything about it....
> 
> Alternative endings to this fic:  
> “Well hey,” Malfoy says, arms folded across his chest, “At least they’re not-”  
> “Don’t say it!” Clint all but shouts. Malfoy stares at him as if he’s gone mad, “Don’t say it! You’ll jinx it.”  
> “I wasn’t going to-”  
> “Yes you were! I could see it in your face, you were going to say at least we’re safe up here for now- ah, shit.”  
> Malfoy and Tony give the archer an eerily similar look of contempt.  
> An explosion sounds somewhere to their right, shaking the foundations.  
> Clint buries his head in his hands, “I hate my life.”
> 
> So, people are either going to hate me or love me from here on in. Possibly both.
> 
> Come check me out on instagram/tumblrif you want! I'm all under the same name cinnaatheart. Tumblr has a few drabbles that aren't on either (ie a Dungeons and Dragons and Avengers thing I've been working on and off on), plus artworks! 
> 
> Please review!


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